Meanwhile
by Cabbage Rose
Summary: A slow-moving, canon-friendly account of the lives of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger prior to the epilogue of Deathly Hallows. Simply put, what happened meanwhile. Rated R for foul language, occasionally raunchy humor, dark situations, and citrusy situations.
1. Chapter 1

**Meanwhile**, a pre-Epilogue Harry Potter story

**A/N: **This story has been a personal amusement of mine for around two years now. I wouldn't consider myself a writer, but I do enjoy writing fanfiction on occasion when I have the time. When the pages of this one started adding up, I realized that I might as well share it for the anonymous readers of the internet, just in case someone could enjoy it.

With that being said, here are some warnings:

As I said, this is the culmination of around two years of writing. As such, the style and chapter lengths change slightly throughout. I also don't have a beta reader since I'm a bit embarrassed to share it with people I know in real life.

I would say I take a few ridiculous liberties with the plot (read: clichés), but you can be the judge of that.

I currently have twelve chapters written. I figured that I would post two every two weeks, since there is no guaranteeing when I'll be available to write more. This is a slow moving project, both in the story and in actual creation. Feel free to subscribe if you would like to see updates!

I realized too late how much I loathe to write in first person AND present tense until it was already quite a few chapters in, so I apologize for any awkward writing on my part. The story switches from Hermione and Ron's perspectives with each chapter.

Any deviations from canon are likely to be temporary. I'd like to stay as true to canon as possible.

Mature rating is for foul language, occasionally raunchy humor, and (attempts at) citrusy situations. Assuming citrus is still an actual term used in the fanfiction. Most of my favorite fanfiction was written around 2004.

For those who are curious, the title is a reference to the series finale of "Futurama." I won't spoil it for anyone, but I would say the title is fitting.

Enjoy!

**Chapter 1**

Is it selfish of me to feel so startlingly inadequate? Loved ones sob for their loss, evident in the bodies lining the walls of the Great Hall. Seamus and Dean share a couple of butterbeers, honoring the lost life of Collin Creevy, the overzealous boy with the camera who had always wanted to belong. Parvati and Padma hold each other as Professor McGonagall pulls a blanket over the body of the woman I had once envied during my sixth year at Hogwarts, whose face was now irrevocably damaged beyond recognition. Andromeda Tonks stands resolutely over the bodies of her daughter and son-in-law, clutching the last living part of them tightly in her grasp. Teddy merely squirms in her firm embrace, blissfully unaware of the state of his parents. A handful of red-haired people gather together over the body of a fallen son and brother, all of whom I have grown to love over the past seven years.

I have spent a better part of my life with these people. I have spent a better part of my life in constant fear. We all have, and we grew together because of it. But now that the threat is finally over, I have nothing comforting to say to anyone, much less the people who need the comforting most. I am not alone in this. Harry and I shared more than one glance since standing here in the middle of the aftermath, unsure of what to feel, let alone what to do. The Weasleys have insisted on more than one occasion that we are family to them, yet as I painstakingly notice Ron's haunted face as he bends over his older brother, I am not so sure. My heart is breaking to be there for him. To touch him, to make him grant me one of those lop-sided smiles, to see his eyes sparkle as he cracks a joke surely intended to rile me up. I am terrified of those things never happening again, knowing that I have come to depend on him more than I dare say. Harry too, of course, but it was different. Never did a genuine laugh from Harry make me let out a breath that I hadn't realized that I had been holding. Content as it made me to see Harry happy, Ron's happiness had become a matter of life for me, after losing him once due to that terrible locket. Yet after all that we have been through, the three of us, Harry and I choose to stand back for the moment, letting the family grieve.

"It's hard to believe that it's finally over," Harry says, breaking a long moment of silence.

"This is the first time that I honestly have a reason to feel happy, and yet-"

"You feel nothing?" I interject, glancing at his face to find only emptiness in those emerald eyes. Over the years, I have come to learn how to read Harry much like one of my favorite books. In some instances, it meant keeping him alive. Now that this war is over, it is just a convenient facet of our comfortable friendship. "I know what you mean, but surely after time, we will be able to rejoice in the fact that Voldemort is gone for good."

Harry merely nods, staring intently at the Weasley brood. I can only hope that what I say holds truth. After what everyone has lost, I can only hope. My eyes join Harry's silent vigil, just in time to see the tallest of them stand from his stance of mourning. Ron looks our way, and I can see the agony sketched across his face as he approaches. Never had I seen him look so candid. Unlike Harry, Ron's face was a book of a completely different language. A language expressive and beautiful, yet infuriating due to my inability to comprehend it. A thought comes to mind before I can stop it: he had looked so beautiful, so deliriously happy, the moment after I first kissed him mere hours before. I understood him completely then, in that moment. Although I felt selfish for reveling in such a moment at a time like this, the thought made me realize that I'd give a lifetime to see him that way again.

"Mum's taking him home tonight for the… funeral," Ron murmured when he reaches his place at my side, his face stonily arranged. "She figured we should stay here for a few more days to help with repairs and all that, so it's happening Tuesday. I reckon there's no arguing with her at this point."

"Not that we'd want to," I say, squeezing his hand comfortingly. I am pleasantly surprised when he holds it in place. "It's only right that we help repair the place that has been home to us for so long. And surely they'll need help with the injured, and I know a few spells that I think would be helpful."

"Hermione - knowing a spell?" Ron half-heartedly quips in mock surprise. Harry chuckles, and I am taken aback by the joke. I worry about what is boiling under Ron's blasé exterior, but I have little time to discover it. We part, hating to do so, going in the direction of where our skills are needed most.

0000

Despite his efforts to retain his composure, I end up coming upon Ron a few hours later in an abandoned, ravaged classroom, sitting upon the floor with his head between his legs, sobbing quietly. I am not surprised. I say nothing, but sit with him in the comforting way we have grown accustomed to over the years. A teary eyed Ginny, with Harry in tow, enter the classroom soon after, and join us on the floor in terse silence.

Ron finally raises his head, angrily wiping away a tear off of his freckled face. "Damn it all to hell," he curses, his stare fixed resolutely at the opposite wall. I bite back the reflex to scold him. "He was laughing, you know, bloody laughing! This wouldn't have happened if he was paying more attention."

"It's not his fault, Ron. Not anyone's, other than the gits that blindly worshipped that bastard Voldemort," Ginny replies heatedly, the wisdom in her words being accented by the Weasley temper. She scoots over so that she is facing her brother, with Harry following. Already, they seem attached at the hip. "There wouldn't have been blame to place to begin with if it weren't for them."

"You're wrong! I should've been there to save his arse. He was our brother, Ginny." Ron's voice is breaking. He glares at his younger sister, whose brown eyes mirror the sapphire ones of her brother's in their ferocity.

"I know, you prat, I know. But you can't blame yourself! Fred wouldn't have wanted that." Tears fall down both of the siblings face's, and the room is silent once again. Harry and I both huddle closer to our loved ones, knowing that in this moment, it was right to be there with them. Ron puts his arm around me and uses his other hand to hold Ginny's. Ginny leans into Harry, her large eyes flitting about between all of our faces, as if to never forget any of them.

All I can think, in the midst of all the agony, is that we are here. We are together. I can only hope that it would be enough to heal the destroyed family that I consider mine.

The rest of the day is grueling, with only an hour or so rest to offset the longest day of our lives. By night-fall, the remaining bodies have been recovered from the ruin, the majority of whom were thankfully not on our side. However, there were still notable losses, including a first year Gryfindor whose bravery truly warranted him the house designation.

It was devastating to line up the casualties of this war, but by dinner, which took place in a surprisingly untouched Room of Requirement, we started thinking of the true enormity of what had occurred. House elves joined humans in the meager feast, non-Voldemort-sympathetic Slytherins ate with the Gryfindors, and stories were told about the lives of those we had lost. Stories remained light, however, as people started to realize that they were finally rid of the bane of many a wizard and witches' existences. We all inclined our glasses in recognition of many of the heroic acts that we finally had the time to tell - Harry's death and rebirth, Neville's killing of Nagini and leading of the rebellion with Ginny, Ron's (brilliant) idea to get into the Chamber of Secrets, and even my destroying of the Hufflepuff Cup.

I linger on that as I trudge up to the Gryffindor common room with Harry, Ron, and Ginny. I never knew the truth of Ron's experience with destroying the locket, although I gathered that it was terrible from what little Harry had mentioned of it. I feared that my experience would be similar, and I was very reluctant when Ron suggested that I be the one to destroy one of the final horcruxes. He said it would only be fair that I have my turn, after everything I had done to help in finding them. I agreed to do it, if only to understand what Ron had been through, and the experience was nothing short of horrifying. It kept showing me back at the Malfoy Manor, being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, but I wasn't the only one. Instead of hearing Ron's desperate cries for me faintly in the back round, he was being tortured right next to me, and Bellatrix kept telling me that I had to chose between him or Harry. One would die, the other would live, or so she claimed. Although I never thought that they would actually keep one of them alive had I made a decision in that case, the thought had always haunted me throughout the war. Ron, or Harry. Ron, or my parents. Ron, or anything I had ever loved. What had scared me most was that in every instance, I couldn't come up with an answer. Ron, as strategically adept as he is, would probably have a better shot at choosing who would have been a better hope for the future of the war. It had always been an insecurity of mine - how much Ron means to me, to the expense of my own logic.

I try to find comfort in the fact that now that Voldemort is dead, I will probably never have to face such a situation. Now, as we tell the portrait of the Fat Lady the password and she enthusiastically opens the threshold, I ponder about Ron's experience. I could only wonder what Ron was tortured with before he destroyed the locket, but I feel terrible for hitting him when he returned with the Sword of Gryffindor if it was even close to what I had gone through. Although Ron has never admitted it, I know he is plagued with insecurities, some of which I may have unwittingly inspired in our countless rows that resulted from mere miscommunication. I hope that after all that we have been through, and after all that has finally occurred (mainly, that kiss), that there will be no need for misunderstanding. With the man that I have deeply cared over the past years, though, I know to never expect anything.

I am jolted from my thoughts by Harry's announcement that he will be retiring for the evening. Ron tenses as he sees his little sister follow Harry up to the boys' dormitory, and although such an expression is unnecessary, I appreciate the familiar gesture.

"I reckon we shouldn't go up there for a while," Ron mutters between clenched teeth.

The implication that underlies his words makes me blush, but I rebut him all the same. "I'd imagine not. As much as it pains you, those two have a lot of catching up to do. I can only imagine what Ginny has gone through these past months, not knowing if Harry was dead or alive…" I trail off momentarily, bitterly recalling Ron's brief absence in our lives. I had cried every day for a month. It's no small wonder Harry didn't abandon me all together, though I tried to make up for my weakness by being extra productive during the day.

"Harry IS alive, though," Ron is quick to remind me, probably interpreting my far off gaze as worry for our friend. He takes my hand and leads me to the leather couch near the fire. How foreign its mahogany color seemed, although I had curled up and read a book on it dozens of times before over the years. Everything looked different after being away from it all for so long. Neville is sound asleep on the recliner opposite the couch, no doubt too exhausted to even make the trip up the stairs to bed. The desks are antique, worn with age, and still maintain the carvings of students of years past. I imagine that if I stood up, which I wouldn't have dreamt of doing with the way Ron is rubbing his thumb along the palm of my hand, I would have been able to see the rather obscene poem the twins had engraved for Professor Snape after a particularly bad day in Potions. The thought of both Fred and Snape sobers the thrill that Ron's hand in mine caused to run down my spine.

"But he could be dead. In fact, he was. I could have lost him. Or Ginny. Or you." My last mention on the list is barely a whisper. The thought of losing the man in front of me, and never seeing his light blue eyes flicker in the fire light again, breaks me. I am exhausted, and I admittedly don't have the best track record for keeping my emotions in check, but I am ashamed as a solitary tear rolls down my cheek. The large freckled hand that is not toying with mine comes up to brush it away, and I am momentarily stunned when it remains there on my cheek, caressing it.

"But you didn't. We're all here," Ron simply reassures me. I immediately miss his warmth as Ron drops his hand from my cheek. His expression falters, and his eyes grow that dark blue color of a storm at sea. Fred. I hadn't realized that as I had blathered on about potential loss, Ron really had lost someone, and here he is comforting me. I feel like an idiot, but I know that bringing it up won't help the situation. I decide to switch topics, remembering what I had been curious about twenty minutes before.

"When I destroyed the cup in the chamber, I had lost you… and Harry, Ginny, everyone," I admit, tacking on the last bit to prevent myself from further vulnerability. I regret not telling the truth about the fact that he was the only one next to me being tortured in the manor. After all, I hope to achieve complete openness with each other, but right now I can't bare the thought of him further withdrawing from me. "It was probably one of the hardest things I had to do in the past two days. Destroying that inanimate object. It's preposterous, given the circumstances, but I can't seem to let go of it."

Ron shifts uncomfortably, moving to rest his feet on the table in front of us. Never does his hand leave mine, and I am constantly aware of it. "I understand. Getting rid of that bloody locket was hard… I lost you, too. You just have to remember that Voldemort was an arsehole. We've done the world a service by ridding the world of that piece of shite," His hand squeezes mine, and I return it, despite the redness in my cheeks over his language. Although I am curious to know far more than what he had told me, it was still a great deal more than anything he had ever mentioned. For tonight, it would be enough.

Regardless of his reassurance, I need to feel more of him, to know he is here with me. I move, daring to lean against him on the couch. He has held me multiple times before, from Dumbledore's funeral onward, although nothing was ever said about it. Now, as it dawns on me that we are alone (aside from Neville's softly snoring body adjacent to us) for the first time since our heated embrace almost 24 hours prior, I flush with heat. He puts his arm over my shoulder, and I look up to see that his neck had darkened to a light shade of pink as well. I nuzzle into it, if only to hide my own pink face, and a small sound escapes him that makes my body tingle.

There are definitely many things that I want to know from Ron Weasley, including how we are defining whatever it is we are doing. Today, however, has made that seem trivial. I have waited forever for Ron, and I can give him the time he needs. The war is won. We are here, we are alive, and we have a future. There is time. I feel a ghost of a smile at the thought as I drift off to sleep in the safety of Ron's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Sunlight disrupts the otherwise pleasant morning in the Gryffindor common room. I groan, covering my eyes in an attempt to block out that damned sun. I hate mornings. Usually I can sleep through anything, but today I seem to be the unlucky one in that sense.

Scratch that. I am very lucky at the moment.

I look down to see the head of an unconscious Hermione Granger, her gorgeous hair splayed out on my lap. Although I hate to disturb her, she would be miffed if she realized that we had slept together out in a public room like this. She would be completely mad if she also felt what was starting to stir between my legs. I'm a disgusting git. How this is even happening given the circumstances… I definitely need to get out of here.

'Aunt Muriel,' I think to myself. 'In a bathing suit.' I notice that Neville is still sleeping in the chair next to us, and I'll have to apologize to him later. Right. 'Snogging with Neville. And his grandma.' The first issue finally dies down, and now I can focus on getting out from underneath her without waking her. I elevate her head, enjoying the opportunity of feeling her hair without the awkwardness that would accompany it, and slide onto my stiff legs. Hermione mews a little in her sleep, but snuggles back into the seat of the couch. I gaze down at her for a second before grabbing a blanket to cover her with.

Now, it is my stomach that arouses my attention. I hadn't eaten much the night before. I didn't feel like eating. I didn't feel anything yesterday, really. Nothing but uselessness and emptiness. Everyone insists that it wasn't my fault, Fred dying. But even if it isn't, it doesn't take back the fact that he is gone. And I'm still not convinced that I couldn't have done something to prevent it. Regardless, my stomach reminds me that, useless or not, it's empty.

I walk down to the Great hall, and find that most of the dead bodies had been transported over night. I know that Mum had taken Fred back home, and told the lot of us to stay here to finish helping. Now, it's just a matter of dealing with the survivors, and repairing the destroyed parts of the castle. Although I don't like the idea of doing anything but sleeping, going home with Mum in her state makes sticking around to help seem like a walk in the park.

I see Harry and the rest of my family at a make-shift table of blankets. I sit next to Harry, and try to ignore the satisfied smile on my sister's face. And how Harry and Ginny's hands are intertwined. That could only mean one thing at a time like this. Although I trust Harry completely, and have recently realized that Ginny is capable of taking care of herself after all she managed to do with Neville this year, I don't need the image of them shagging in my head. The idea is disgusting, but what I am seeing outside of my head isn't much better either. Usually we Weasley's are known for being loud, especially when we are eating, but everything is subdued. Bill and Fleur talk quietly, every now and then glancing at George, who is providing one word answers to questions from Charlie. Percy is making a list of the things that need to be done. The scratching of his quill against the parchment is just about the loudest sound in our area.

I grab a couple of sausages from the plate in the middle of the blanket, and shove a few of them down before I bother saying anything. After I am sure that I will not die from hunger, I turn to Harry and loudly say, "So, please don't tell me that you and my sister shagged last night."

The statement has the effect I had hoped. Fleur and Percy look shocked. Bill looks murderous. Charlie manages a laugh. Only George remains stoic, barely looking up from his food. I know Harry will get me for this later, but it's the only way I could think of to get things less tense.

Ginny chooses to get back at me now. "Not that it's any of your business, but you would have known that we didn't had you actually come to bed. Where were you all last night, huh? I wouldn't put it past you to be doing the very thing you're suggesting with Hermione!" She's grinning.

She's completely evil.

Multiple things are said at once.

Bill remains focused on the initial issue, as any sane brother would be. "You two were together last night?" he angrily asks Harry, who only can look down awkwardly at his food. Fleur puts a hand on Bill's arm, as if to calm him down. I recognize the gesture from when Hermione sometimes does it with me, and it usually works. Charlie laughs a little more genuinely at Ginny's retort.

Percy, who I still don't know if I can trust as far as I can throw him, puts down his quill and looks at us with surprise. Apparently, he's still a bit out of the loop. "Wait, why would Ginny be doing that with anyone? Scratch that - why would Ron being doing that with anyone, much less Hermione?" I glare at the git from across the make-shift table, stuffing some toast into my mouth.

"Harry and I have been dating since last year," Ginny informs our estranged brother, rolling her eyes. "And since Voldemort is dead, we are able to start back where we left off. But really, I'm glad that I had to inform the whole family of this. Thanks, Ron."

"Yeah, really, mate, you did us all a big favor. I'll be sure to return it when you finally man up and do what has been a long time coming," Harry adds on, knocking me on the arm.

"Any time, sis. And I have no idea what you're talking about, Harry," I grin at them, although it feels forced. I eat some more, for although I am no longer hungry, I feel like it could fill the ache in my chest. Apparently the others feel similarly, for the rest of breakfast is continued in a silence not quite as heavy as it had been before. Before everything is finished, I wrap some sausages and toast up in a napkin for Hermione, knowing that she will probably be hungry when she wakes up.

0000

Days have passed, and we are still at the slowly recovering school. Harry has been answering questions, being surprisingly patient with the help of Ginny by his side. Hermione, brilliant as she is, has been Madame Pomfrey's chief help with healing the injured. I am helping to repair the doorway of the castle. Although I'm shite when it comes to most mending spells, I manage to make myself useful and distract myself from thinking too much. There's a lot to think about, even if I don't want to admit it. On one hand, there is the bad. My brother is dead. George lost his other half. Mum's a wreck. The family is barely holding together. Tomorrow, we will be returning home to send Fred off properly. But on the other hand, there's life. There's possibility. Voldemort is dead, and suddenly I have a future that I actually need to start planning for. A future that may even involve the woman of my dreams, if that mind-boggling snog with Hermione was not a result of her thinking she was going to die. I'm still not so sure, but my blood races at the thought of it all the same - only to feel guilty, shamed, when I remember that I should be mourning for Fred. Obviously, it's better not to think at a time like this.

George approaches me so silently that I jump when he taps me on the shoulder.

"Bloody wanker, you scared the shite out of me!" Between being lost in my thoughts, and a year on the road teaching me that to be unaware is to be captured, it is my initial reaction to be afraid. I feel bad that I had yelled at George, but I am surprised when I see him smile for the first time in days.

"You know, little brother, as easily as you scare, you are the first person to talk to me like I'm a normal human being since it happened." George looks like something Crookshanks would leave at my doorstep, to be honest. He looks like he has turned double his age in the past two days, and between the missing left ear and the obvious lack of hygiene, I wouldn't be surprised if he actually had scared someone that hadn't just fought the bloody battle.

"Well, maybe if you actually bothered to take a shower, people wouldn't be looking at you funny," I retort, falling back into the banter that we had enjoyed prior to the war. Before everything became hard. Scary. Deadly.

Thankfully, George seems to appreciate the return to our old behavior. He smiles a little more. "And that's exactly why I'm going to ask you this." His smile fades, turning his demeanor uncharacteristically serious. "Charlie was harassing me about it at breakfast. You know Charlie - only he could be adventurous enough to work with dragons, yet still need to have a formulated plan. Just as bad as Percy, that one, but he got me around to thinking. Now that Fred is… gone, I need someone to help me with the joke shop. I know that you had been interested in it before, if only for free swag. But what do you say? You could forget finishing your last year at this bloody school and come work with me. I didn't do it, and look how I turned out."

Admittedly, I often admired Fred and George for quitting school to start a joke shop, especially when it became wildly successful. I personally had no serious aspiration in life, aside from becoming the Keeper of the Chudley Cannons, and I somehow doubt that a stint as "the King" on the Gryffindor Quidditch team would make up for my lack of incredible talent in that department. I am also interested in being an Auror, but after fighting for my life for the past year, it doesn't seem like a desirable option to go back to school and take my N.E.W.T.S. in order to apply. At least, not any time soon. George's offer is appealing, but I do want to think it over first.

"Thanks for the offer, George. It means a lot. Can I get back to you, though? It's a lot to wrap my head around," I say after a brief moment, running a hand through my hair awkwardly. It's unusual for any of my brothers to rely on me, but this is as close as George could get to saying that he valued my input in his business. I don't really know how to take that.

George offers me a small smile. "Well, we wouldn't want ickle Ronniekins to get his brain sore from all that bending." The smile widens a little more, and I am relieved that he is joking again, even if it's at my expense. "But seriously, take your time. I know it's a lot to spring on you, especially now that you've got that ol' ball and chain to consider. Don't think I missed what Ginny said earlier."

I feel my face heat up despite myself. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Ginny is full of shite most of the time," I say, almost too quickly. Unfortunately, my statement isn't covering up truth. With everything that had to get done, I barely had any time to see Hermione alone since the first night after Voldemort's death. Any time that wasn't spent working was spent as a group, and even then we were usually too exhausted to talk about much. I can only imagine what is going on in that brilliant head of hers, but I hope that she isn't regretting what I've been reliving almost every hour since it happened.

"Indeed, little brother, indeed. But don't think I have missed those longing, enchanted gazes you guys exchange every time you see each other. Or over the past four years, for that matter." As glad as I am to have George starting to get back to his old self, the humiliating insight is one thing I could've done without. I cast another mending spell at the hopelessly open doorway, avoiding his gaze.

"Bugger off, won't you?" My ears burn with regret the moment it comes out of my mouth. Leave it to me to say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

George lets out a humorless laugh. "Trust me when I say that it's better to not leave things unsaid. You never know when someone's day may be their last."

I feel chills at that morbid piece of advice. He lends a hand, and casts a considerably stronger spell. With all the experiments he and Fred conducted for the joke shop, they often had to repair parts of the wall when something exploded, either in a formula went awry or a successful one that worked exactly as intended. We work side by side until the hole no longer exists, all in silence. He drops the subject, and loses himself in his miserable thoughts, and suddenly I don't mind when he teases me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The welcoming, warm, dilapidated tower that the Weasley family calls "home" is a sight for sore eyes. Not that the house was particularly beautiful, by any means, but it always represented a sanctuary to me when I wasn't at Hogwarts or with my parents in Oxfordshire. Unfortunately, my use of 'sore eyes' is not purely metaphorical. I hadn't slept the night before, with tears being more frequent than I'd care to admit. Although there is a time to rejoice in the end of the war, I feel that it isn't now. I can only feel remorse for the lives that are lost.

As we approach the house, I am reminded of the loss of Ron's brother by the trail of floating lanterns that lead to the backyard. Hard to believe that around a year ago, those lights were used to light the way to a wedding, a joining of two people. Now, they are used to illuminate a farewell to a good man who died before his time.

I look over to another good man of the same family, and find his face as stoic as ever. We never got the chance to be alone since the night that I had fallen asleep in the common room, and I regret using it on discussing petty hallucinations of Voldemort's making. The death of Fred must be agony for Ron, but he has yet to let that show other than the one instance in the classroom. To him, it's a sign of being strong. It just shows me how much pain he's really in. I'd prefer a livid, irritable, yelling Ron over a ghost of his former passionate self. It would do him wonders to express it, but I'm afraid of forcing him to do something that he isn't ready for.

Mrs. Weasley opens the door for us, knowing that we had Apparated once out of the boundaries of the school mere moments before. By the time we reach the threshold, she is already back in the kitchen, furiously scrubbing the floor. Pots and pans boil on stoves, nearly brimming over, and the ovens are full to capacity with baked goods. It smells scrumptious, especially when combined with the distinct homey smell of the Weasley house that I had grown to love over the years. I almost would have thought that it was just another day for this family, had it not been for the frantic, almost over the edge manner in which Mrs. Weasley cleans.

Mr. Weasley enters the main room at our arrival, and greets us all with friendly embraces. He strides over to his wife, and with a firm hand on her shoulder, tells her, "Now Molly, we've gone over this floor dozens of times. It's spotless. Please, stand up, love." The cautious manner in which he makes his request leads me to believe that at least Mrs. Weasley has been exhibiting the family temper before our arrival. She looks very peeved at being disturbed, but does as he asks regardless and comes over to us to have her turn at giving us all a round of hugs and kisses. She lingers on George, and I can see that she is shaking when she embraces him.

"It's so nice to have you all home." Her voice wavers as she turns away from her son, tears in her eyes. She shakes her head, as if to shake off the emotions plaguing her, and informs us in a firm voice, "There's a lot of work to be done before people arrive. Ginny, please do the laundry and make sure all of the sheets are clean. Harry and Ron, go outside and start weeding and getting rid of the garden gnomes. Hermione, be a dear and dust around the house. Percy, check in with the guests and make sure that everyone is aware of the plan for today - we've been getting Floo calls all morning. Bill and Charlie, help your father with enchanting the c-coffin. Fleur, I'd love your help in the kitchen. Don't let me see any of you not working. I assure you there's plenty to do!"

"Glad you missed us, Mum. I don't know what you would've done without the slave labor," George jokes, albeit a bit weakly. His brothers chuckle appreciatively, while I nervously glance over at their mother for signs of diving off the deep end. A comment like that would usually have her angry in a stable mood, at the very least, but Mrs. Weasley's eyes merely crinkle and a crisis is avoided.

0000

"Dad asked me to say something tonight."

I am on my tip toes, trying to get the last bit of dust on the top shelf of the bookcase in the Weasleys' quaint study. Hours were spent in other rooms of the house. The deep voice startles me - a past year on the run has made me grow acquainted with surprise. I bite back the involuntary fear, still a mechanical reaction, knowing that the owner of the warm voice would be the last person in the world to fear.

Granted, I do fear him. But not because I think he would ever hurt me. I fear that he is capable of too much as far as I'm concerned, however exciting I may find it.

I turn and face Ron, finding him staring dejectedly at the floor. "Do you want to?" I ask.

I don't need any more clarification than what he had already said. I had suspected for a while that his dad would make such a request, to speak at Fred's wake. "I don't know," he says, frustrated. He is sweaty and dirty from having worked in the garden, smelling that distinctly male and uniquely "Ron" scent that I have grown so attracted to. I am tempted by a spot of dirt on his cheek. Before I can stop myself, I go over to him, stand on my tip toes, and clean that, too. I find it hard to think when he nuzzles into my hand, that had just happened to linger.

Ron manages a small smile at my gesture. "I feel like I should, y'know, send him off right. He deserves that much… I just don't have a bloody clue what to say."

My hand retreats from his cheek to encircle his freckled upper arm in a comforting grasp. "Say what you feel. That's all you need to say. He wouldn't have asked for anything more." I think it odd, speaking for his brother in such an intimate way, but over the years Fred and I had gotten to know each other through the teasing and occasional spat. All of the Weasleys had treated me almost like a younger sister since I could remember knowing them. I was never close to Fred, but I still felt as the others did. "When it counts, Ron, you usually have exactly the right thing in mind to say."

Ron chuckles somewhat sarcastically at that. "Oh really? Could you remind the Hermione of the past seven years of that? Felt like she thought all I did was say the wrong thing, what with the constant rowing." Although it is meant as a joke, his jaw tightens. His expression falls flat.

What I want to tell him? Even that Hermione felt like his words were gold, regardless of when they had a habit of making a mess of things. But I feel that this isn't the time nor place to make such long awaited revelations, so I settle for comforting him on other matters. "I wouldn't say it was constant, by any means," I reassure him, allowing my hand on his arm to travel down to his hand. "I'm pretty sure that Hermione said some things she didn't mean, too. And this is an entirely different situation. No one is going to expect anything from you. You don't even have to do it, if you don't want to."

He looks down at my hand in his for a long moment, as if lost in thought. I squeeze his hand, willing him to have the confidence to do what he wants. After a long pause, he pulls me in for a hung and says, "Thanks, Hermione." His arms wind around my lower back, and his head rests gently in my impossibly unruly hair. Despite his dampness, I revel, however guiltily, in the embrace, wrapping my arms around his waist with my cheek against his broad chest.

We hold each other for a long moment, and despite my insomnia, I feel newly invigorated in his arms. Maybe I'm delusional, or perhaps I just needed this. A hug. It's so simple, yet when the world has instantaneously fallen down and opened up to you, it's hard to remember the beauty of such things until you indulge in it. I breathe in his beloved scent, trying to be covert in my attentions. Newly trimmed grass. Fresh parchment on the adjacent table. All I need is Ron's maroon jumper and I'd be set on that front. It's nice to have the ability to simply enjoy a moment.

Reality all too quickly sets back in. "Ron, your mum wants you," Harry says, interrupting the silence as he enters through the doorway.

Ron sheepishly steps out of the embrace, briefly squeezing my hand before leaving the room to receive more orders. Harry merely chuckles before sitting on the loveseat nearest him. I return to my cleaning efforts, my face growing hot when I feel Harry's gaze on my back. I turn and demand, "What is it?"

Although Ron has seen better days, Harry's countenance is lighter, in spite of the circumstances. It seems that the combination of Voldemort's death and Ginny's return to his life (and his bed, from what I could presume from when I would wake in the middle of the night to find her bed empty) have been good for him. "I'm just glad that you two have come to your senses. It's about time."

I feel the denial rise in my throat, a reflex, before realizing that Harry was present when the world had stopped spinning for a blissful moment during the final battle. I know there's no hiding anything from our best friend, but it's my own doubt that makes me reluctant to see truth in his statement. Although I am sure that the kiss meant something, I find it difficult to believe things without undeniable evidence. Holding hands, intimate embraces, even a kiss can be explained away. Comfort, being the primary explanation. Merlin knows we all need some of that with everything that has happened. That's why, before it was all over and Ron told me that he wanted to tell me something as we were being chased by Nagini, I told him to wait. I couldn't take it if he said something that he'd regret. Now things are a little more sane, aside from the grief. Maybe, finally, I can get some answers. But until Ron and I can talk about whatever is going on between us, though, I can never be too sure.

I merely turn back to the bookshelf, hoping to hide the insecurity on my face. "It's too soon to tell. He's going through a lot. I am just trying to be here for him," I say, mechanically.

Harry is quick to counter. "Hermione, Ron has been holding out for you for years. It's been obvious to everyone but you guys. There's no point in hiding it anymore, with everything that has happened."

"It's hardly appropriate to even think about that at a time like this," I shoot back, trying to prevent Harry's tempting argument from settling inside of my mind. I move to the desk in order to dust it, trying to keep myself from appearing too affected.

"I felt that way too, and you know what I realized? Being a martyr is exhausting. Look," Harry says urgently, rising from the chair to approach me. I still and look at him, surprised by his uncharacteristic outburst in such a situation. "Ginny convinced me of it, and I'm glad she did. The war is over. The people who sacrificed for us would not want us to wallow in misery, and before you say it, I know I have done it before in the face of losing people I loved. But you know as well as I do that Fred, Remus, Tonks, they all would want us to be happy. I miss them all like crazy, but I'm going to try to live the way that they would want me to because of their sacrifice. I'm going to do my best to make Ginny happy for Fred, and I can't wait to become part of Teddy's life. They'd want the same for you guys."

I can only smile at my best friend. So unlike what I had expected. I honestly thought he would somehow blame himself for the doings of a psychotic wizard, but he's giving me the same exact pep talk I would have told him if the roles were reversed. Although I don't often confide in Harry for romantic reasons, seeing this side in him moves me. I look down, and shakily admit, "I care about him, Harry. A lot."

"I know," Harry simply replies, although he looks like my confession is painfully obvious to him.

"I just feel like we're so close. I want to keep moving forward with this, but now that things aren't so pressing, I'm unsure of how to play this out. The whole definition of our relationship seems to be inopportune timing," I mutter the last bit, remembering prior debacles involving a certain Yule Ball or the dreaded sixth year spent avoiding Ron when his lips were attached to another pair.

"The nice thing about now is that time is no longer limited. But why wait? I've heard enough complaining on both ends to know that you've been waiting long enough." Harry's demeanor is a lot lighter than I've seen in a long time. His outlook has never been so positive. I definitely need to talk to Ginny about this change in Harry. She seems to know exactly how to talk some sense into even the most stubborn of people, and I may need help with that if I am to do what her boyfriend is suggesting.

I straighten myself out. "Thanks, Harry. I'll definitely take that into consideration," I say firmly, right after which we hear Mrs. Weasley hollering for us. "I guess there is still more work to do?"

"Isn't there always?" Harry mutters quietly, but the irritation doesn't meet his eyes. I follow Harry out, hopeful that the happiness that Harry has imagined for Ron and myself is just beyond the horizon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It went exactly as Hermione had said, of course. She's always right. Sending Fred off with friends and family was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, but when I was called to speak, I thought of the right things. For once. I thought of the love that we all had for my brother, and of his bravery and wit. I reminded everyone who had showed up, which was at least half the bloody school, about he and George's fiery escape from Hogwarts. That made a handful of the people that were there chuckle, and that got the ball rolling. By the end of my speech, everyone seems genuinely amused, laughing openly. Even Mum has a trace of a smile.

I step down and walk back to my seat between Hermione and Ginny. As I sit, I can't stop the hot redness that stings my face when I look at Hermione's expression. She's red-faced and teary eyed, but smiling, and her intent gaze upon me is nothing short of amazing. I can't read women well, but I can tell that she is proud of me. That alone makes me the happiest I have been in a while. I wish I could show her how she makes me feel, but I risk making myself look like an idiot. I settle for wrapping my arm around her, and she leans against me naturally, as if she belonged there.

George is the last of us to speak, and the mood that I helped create is dimmed somewhat out of fear of what he would do. Much like during our conversation a couple of days ago, my brother looked like he had gone to Hell and back, not that I blame him one bit. Mum forced him to bathe, to the relief of most people within a couple of feet of him, and he did manage to wear some nice robes that I wouldn't have complained about owning. He clears his throat, and when he speaks, it sounds like the voice of a man a few decades older than his twenty years.

"My brother, Fred, was my best friend. My partner in crime. My twin. He was the greatest bloke that I have ever known. I've had him with me all of my life. Thus, I also know he was one of the most annoying people in existence." An appreciative chuckle ripples throughout the crowd. "But, he was a part of me. Completed me, you could say. Not in the wish-washy romantic shite way that you hear," George lets out a choked chuckle. Mum makes a noise in the back of her throat, but whether it is from grief or anger at the fact that George cursed at her son's funeral is hard to tell. "He was my other half, and he made so many other people happy. I knew Fred better than anyone, and when you leave today, please remember this: he would not have wanted you to suffer over him. Hell, he would want you to throw a party. The war is over, and he died a hero's death. It suits him to go out with a bang. If he had to go out, at least he took bloody Voldemort with him." A few people, myself included, yell out in agreement, although I can't stop myself from tearing up. George raised his wand toward the sky, and brilliant fireworks starting appearing in the darkening sky. "Here's to you, Fred."

Some of George's friends, including Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson, raise their wands to add to the fireworks display. I really need George to teach me how to do that sometime. It's brilliant, and from what I can tell by the sobbing laughter of the woman beside me, it seems to be a crowd pleaser, which is definitely the way Fred would have wanted it to end. I can't say I'm happy - hell, I'm trying to wipe my eyes without getting noticed as we watch the skies, but things suddenly feel lighter now that we've had a chance to honor Fred and say our last goodbyes.

When George walks back down, Mum runs up to give him a big hug, sobbing on his shoulder. The rest of the ceremony passes uneventfully, with George sitting by Mum. At the end, he catches my eye and nods toward the house. Understanding, I yell, "Hey, you lot, there's a bunch of food in the house for anyone who wants a free dinner!" The crowd laughs, and a majority of them head back toward the house. Mum turns away, her face suddenly angry because of my less than tasteful invitation, but George gives me a thumbs up. Those strikingly familiar and normal gestures make me realize that everything will be okay. Eventually.

I turn to follow Hermione out of the aisle, grabbing her hand when I catch up before I slow to a stop. Harry and Ginny look back at us for a moment, but then slowly make their way back up to the house. I just need a moment. I stare up at the remains of the fireworks, that are little more than a grey smog that lightens the darkness of the night. She looks up at me. Her eyes are swollen from crying, her nose is red, and her lips are chapped from biting them nervously. Even now, she is nothing less than beautiful to me. I am thankful that I still have her, when I have lost so much. "Just… thanks, for everything. I couldn't have done any of that without you."

"You're welcome, but you did that all on your own, Ron. That funny, brilliant, heart-felt speech was all yours. I'm sure Fred would be so proud of you." Hermione looks up at me with that same expression as before, leaning closer into me. My heart leaps out of my chest, my palms get sweaty, and I feel like I'm that dirt-nosed kid on the Hogwarts Express all over again. "I know I am."

'Merlin, I love you,' I can't help but think. It's a thought that I've had before, but it wasn't until everything that had happened that put things into perspective. Going through a bunch of shite, especially losing people you love, makes good things really clear. I know I have loved Hermione Granger for years, but it wasn't until the end of this war that I could finally accept it with confidence. It scares the shite out of me to think about how she feels, but I know that we can finally move on, one way or another, by finding that out.

But I cannot bring myself to do that, not yet. Instead, I wrap my arms around her, placing my chin on the top of her head. I can see right above her into the house, where people are eating and chatting. The height difference always amused me in this way, but I don't mind it at all because I only notice it when I'm this close to her. She inhales deeply, and I look down at her, thinking that she may start crying again. Instead, she just blushes brightly - something I find incredibly adorable - and steps away.

"Let's head back inside, shall we?" She nods, and I lead her towards the house. The living room is full of delicious scents that instantly makes me ravenous. The mood of the room is surprisingly upbeat, considering the circumstances of the gathering. People are talking, drinking, laughing, and having a good time. Even George seems a lot more relaxed, talking to Angelina in the corner of the room.

Upon our entrance, we are immediately bombarded by Ginny. "So, what were you guys talking about?" It's clear to me that my dear baby sister has already had a few shots of fire whiskey in our brief absence.

"None of your bloody business," I grumble darkly, peeved at her inebriated state. I'm all for drinking, but not when my little sister is involved. She's still a light weight. "And slow down on the shots."

"Please, you are such a hypocrite! You're notorious for being smashed at family gatherings," Ginny giggles. Hermione raises an eyebrow at this, looking up at me inquisitively. I am spared from the lecture by the very substance the topic would have been on. Ginny grabs Hermione's arm. "C'mon Hermione, you should have a shot. It'd do you wonders!"

"Ginny, you know I don't drink," Hermione murmurs, but allows herself to be dragged away - or rather, drags Ginny away. Ginny is already having trouble walking straight at this point. Harry comes up as soon as they head into the kitchen, chuckling and shaking his head.

"Why'd you let her have fire whiskey shots, Harry?" I demand, irritated at my best mate's fun at my little sister's intoxicated state. "She's already out of sorts."

"You know better than I do that you can't tell Ginny not to do something," Harry replies, pushing his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. Admittedly, that is true. "Besides, I'm pretty sure the drunk part of it is an act. She made a bet with me about how long it would take you two to admit your feelings to each other and get together. She's thinking it could be within the next 24 hours, what with that cozy conversation you two just had. I think she's trying to get Hermione a little tipsy to get her to open up so that she can win our bet."

"Barely home for a day and she's already scheming," I mutter at that, but then hone in on Harry's prior statement. "So, how long do you reckon it will take?"

Harry's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "What is this? No denial of feelings? Has the world come to an end as we know it?"

"Nah, we locked that shite down last week," I joke, and we both chuckle. It's nice to know that I can still find humor in something. "But nope, no denial. I mean, you saw us snog right in front of you, mate. Don't know if I could deny anything after that."

Harry grins at me. "I'm glad you finally admit it. Hermione wasn't as keen to when I asked her about it earlier." I feel like I was just punched in the stomach, my thoughts swirling in dozens of directions.

Maybe she isn't as sure about me as I am about her? Maybe she snogged me out of pity, thinking we were dead men walking? Apparently the clusterfuck of emotions I am experiencing is showing, for Harry is quick to add, "Not like that, mate! She's crazy about you too, from what I can tell. She just doesn't know how you feel, and if you kissed her for reasons other than 'romantic feeling'." I still am not completely convinced, but I can completely understand if that's true. Join the bloody club.

"Well, if that's the case, how long do you think? I'm curious," I prod. I am interested to hear Harry's view on the situation, seeing as he has known the two of us the longest. Maybe he will tell me that delaying telling her would be best, which I wouldn't mind if it means being denied humiliation.

"For the purposes of Ginny's bet? After 24 hours," He laughs, and I half-heartedly punch him in the arm. He mockingly winces at me, and his voice sobers a bit. "But really, it's all up to you guys. I think that once you gather up the courage, you both will hear exactly what you want to hear. You just have to get over that fear. After that, it's easy."

"Well, I don't want to make it too easy for Ginny. I want Hermione to be completely level headed when we talk about it, anyway. Let's go stop them," I suggest, walking towards the kitchen. "By the way, what will you get if you do win this bet?"

"Oh… I doubt that you would want to know," Harry mumbles, though his grin tells me everything that I need to know. Preventing him from winning that stupid bet may be all the incentive I need.

0000

"Ron, get out!"

I'm awoken by a shivering, angry Ginny around 2 that morning. From what I can tell, she had a little too much fire whiskey, and is now freezing her arse off because the fire is leaving her body. It's a symptom of a fire whisky "hang over", as Hermione called it in a prior lecture, and while it is less messy than vomiting, it still isn't fun by any means.

That being said, I have no pity for her right now. It's bloody early. "What do you mean? This is my room! What the bloody hell are you even doing in here?"

She ignores me, pulling off her shirt. "What the fuck, Ginny? Merlin!"

The commotion has woken Harry as well, although his unchecked, sleepy expression at seeing Ginny was far from my horrified state. I throw a pillow at the wanker. "That's my sister, Harry!"

Continuing stripping her clothes, although I could only assume from the sounds of the articles of clothing hitting the floor since I am staring at the ceiling, she tells me, "You know what Charlie says. It's best to have skin to skin contact when you have a fire whiskey overdose. I'm experiencing hypothermia right now, and it needs to stop." She climbs into bed with Harry. "And you need to leave."

"Why? This is MY room! Why do I have to leave? You guys go!" I demand, sitting up and throwing my legs off of the bed, intending on carrying the two out if need be. Let Mum find them.

"Because I am freezing, Ron, and I can't sleep half-naked with you in here. You should just go sleep in my bed," Ginny suggests. Although it is very dim in the room, I could have sworn I just saw her wink at me. Is this all just part of her plan? "I'm sure Hermione wouldn't mind if she noticed."  
I am both enraged by the intrusion on Ginny's part, and suddenly nervous at the thought of sleeping near Hermione. During the war, we had slept in the same tent together when Harry had guard duty, but when I had randy thoughts, I always felt guilty about them. Now, it's just like being invited into the girl's dormitory at Hogwarts. Limitless possibilities.

"Fine Ginny, but you're daft if you don't think I'm telling Mum about this in the morning," I threaten, allowing the excuse to sleep near Hermione. Ginny just snorts in response.

"Night, mate," Harry mumbles, a huge sleepy grin on his face as his arm wraps around my nearly naked sister… I may have to murder my best mate yet, though the thought is quickly forgotten as I make the short trip down the hall to Ginny's room. The door was left open and I can see Hermione twist and turn in her bed. I can tell her dreams aren't pleasant, for she always slept like this while we were on the run. She could never sleep peacefully when we could be killed at any turn.

I close the door behind me, torn between holding her hand in an attempt to pacify her, as I sometimes did during the war, and going straight to bed as to not draw attention to myself. I decide on the latter, tip-toeing to Ginny's bed on the other side of the room.

Less than ten minutes later, I am drifting off to sleep when I hear her murmur, "No… please, no!"

That took any thought of sleep out of my head. After tripping on the sheets tangled between my legs, I rush to her side, getting on my knees to kneel beside her bed. I am desperate for a solution to this problem. She continues to moan terrible things, and I am tempted to wake her.  
Right as I am about to shake her awake, one of her cries cuts through the incoherence. "No, no… Ron, no!" I freeze immediately. Did I just hear my name? Am I… hurting her in this dream? My heart sinks. I would never dream of hurting her, both literally and figuratively. Would waking her only scare her more? She continues to moan, and I can't take it. Even if it only makes things worse, I have to put her out of the agony in her mind, even if I'm the one causing it in her dream.

I gently shake her shoulder, trying to coax her awake without startling her. "Hermione, wake up… Hermione, it's only a dream, wake up." She wakes with a start, gasping and tears streaming down her cheeks. I want to brush them away, but if I was the one causing that fear, I doubt it would be appreciated. I settle for asking her, flatly, "Are you ok?"

"Yes, I'm fine… Thank you," Hermione finally says, her expression haunted as she stares directly ahead.

"Well, look, whatever it is, I'm sorry," I mutter, before returning to my side of the room. "Ginny is with Harry, otherwise I wouldn't be in here."  
Hermione doesn't respond, so I return back to bed. A few minutes pass before I start hearing her sob. I'm so torn. I don't know if I should talk to her. I fear it may only make it worse. I just listen her cry for a few more moments. It's agony, knowing she is crying, probably because of me, and being unable to do anything about it. I feel utterly worthless. Why did I think she could ever like me? I should have just-

"W-why are you being so insensitive?" She asks sharply, her glare softened by tears.

I am very confused, though the accusation causes me to rile up a little. "Hermione, whatever happened in the dream, I didn't do it!"

She pulls her legs up to chest and holds them to herself. "What are you t-talking about?"

"I heard you tell me 'no' in your dream. Wasn't I hurting you? I would never hurt you, Hermione. Never," I assure her as I swing my legs over the side of the bed to face her.

"I know you wouldn't! Oh, Ron," she cries, burrowing her face in her knees. Her words are muffled. "I just keep having the same dream. Back at the m-manor."

That certainly clears up a lot, and I feel overwhelming remorse. I return to her side, sitting beside her on the bed. She leans over and sobs into my shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

She mumbles, "That's not even the worst part. I can handle them torturing me. I've lived that." She swallows loudly, breathing in and out erratically. I wrap my arms around her, rubbing her sides.

"What is? Unless you don't want to talk about it," I add at the end. I am just so relieved that I was not hurting her in the dream. I don't want to press it.

She hesitates before saying, barely above a whisper, "I lose. They torture you, they kill you, and I lose you. I can't bare losing you, not again, not ever."

I am completely filled with an indescribable feeling. On one hand, I hate how distressed she is. On the other, I am so… relieved, knowing that those tears were over my loss. I had seen her cry over Harry so many times, but unless I was being a git, she never worried over losing me. At least, I thought she didn't. But apparently I was wrong, and as selfish as it is, I couldn't be more glad for it.

"Never, Hermione. You'll never lose me," I admit solemnly. I hold her tighter, and force myself into saying what I do next. "Hermione, what I wanted to tell you earlier at Hogwarts, that you told me to wait to tell you… I don't want to wait anymore. I'll never leave you, because I would never want to leave you. I would always be with you, if you would have me."

The words sound stupid and awkward, but they're out there. I am very still, quite scared of what she is going to say. Her sobs silence, and she looks at me. I refuse to meet her gaze. "Ron, look at me." I do as she asks, however reluctantly. "I want to be with you… That's all I've wanted for quite some time."

I'm bloody terrified to believe what I am hearing, though my heart beats frantically in a desperate need to do just that. "So, you want to be with me? As in, together?"

Hermione lets out a small, shuddering laugh at that, as if the question were silly. "So much."

My immediate reaction is to completely devour her, to kiss and touch things I have never touched, and to make her feel things that I have only dreamed of making her feel. But I've gone through that path before, with another girl. I have no intention of treating things with Hermione like I did with any other girl. Hermione is it, for me. I have to treat her like that.

So, I do the single thing that I have craved ever since I knew I was in love with her. I take her beautiful face in my calloused hands, and give her the most gentle kiss I could manage, my lips lightly brushing over her's. Of course, just because I have noble intentions doesn't mean I can sustain them. She wraps her arms around my neck, deepening the kiss, pressing her soft curves against the flat plain of my chest. Despite my deep desire not to, I move my hands respectably to her sides. I almost lose control when I feel her pink tongue briefly flicker out to taste me, and I am not sure why I'm surprised. Leave it to Hermione to be experimental, not that I mind in the slightest. After a long moment, I pull away, only to kiss her all over, from her jaw-line to her cheeks and nose and finally to her forehead.

Hermione sighs contentedly, her breath tickling my neck. "So, I guess Ginny won the bet? She told me all about it when she was in her happy state of intoxication."

I place one more kiss on her forehead before looking down at her. "I wouldn't have it any other way."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

I wake up a few hours later to a rooster greeting the early morning sun. Reluctant to open my eyes, I nuzzle lazily into an unexpected warmth, only to realize that it is shifting under me. 'Ron,' I recognize, flushing brightly, opening my eyes to take in the expanse of his chest, which proudly donned "The Chudley Cannons" logo. The single bed that we lay upon is entirely too small for the two of us, especially given Ron's great length. As a result, I am practically on top of him, with my head and arm sprawled across his torso, and my leg flung around his. Much like the evening in the Gryffindor common room, we had talked throughout the night, and must have dozed off.

As lovely as it felt to feel the rise and fall of his chest, with his heart beat echoing softly in my ear, I knew that there would be innumerable consequences if we were caught by Mrs. Weasley. Not to mention that, in all likelihood, Harry and Ginny could be found in a decidedly less innocent state than our already damning positions. However, it is rather early - the sun has barely made its way through the curtains yet - and I am rather tempted to call the rooster's crow that of the nightingale as opposed to the morning lark. That being said, such a judgment certainly did not work out well for Juliet, and I would rather not have our budding romance cut short by Ron's mother's poisonous glare. I don't know what's more surprising: the fact that I am entertaining blatant rule breaking as a guest in this house for even longer, or that I am quoting Shakespeare as a valid source of wisdom. Either way, I could already feel that Ron's presence was going to my head. I had to be the voice of reason here. There was no doubt about that, given our inherent natures, as well as Ron's continuing snore above my head.

"Ron, wake up," I urge quietly, as to not draw attention of a wandering passerby making their way to the loo. Ron murmurs unintelligibly, his grip on me tightening. It is only then that I notice exactly where his hands had fallen in our slumber. While one large hand is rather innocently at my side, the other his just above my rib cage, and his fingers are grazing the side of my breast. My cheeks grow even hotter at this prospect, for I typically do not wear a bra when there is only female company. Brassieres are actually quite unnecessary from a scientific perspective, as they do not prevent breasts from "drooping" with age or whatever it is that women tend to fear. It is merely a social convention, and since I find it a lot more comfortable to sleep without one (being prevented from doing so for the better part of the year due to constant male company while traveling across Europe), it hadn't occurred to me to wear one to bed last night when my only roommate was Ginny.

This being said, reason has escaped me yet again, and I feel a dull tingling in between my thighs. My pulse quickens, and I flush with embarrassment. I no longer want to wake him for fear of him discovering me like this, although a smaller, more daring part tells me that he would know how to handle such a sensation, given his experience with a certain prattling twit the sixth year. While such a thought might have driven me to jealousy, thus extinguishing my excitement, the unfamiliar proximity of his body has only heightened the responses of mine. Besides, Lavender fought bravely beside all of us, and suffered an attack from that horrid werewolf. While I begrudge her history with Ron, I shouldn't think poorly of her anymore.

To be fair, I can't think at all at the moment. I need to get out of this situation to prevent getting caught, but all I know is that if I shift to the side to lie on my back, his hand would effectively brush against my breast. Only my thin cotton night shirt would separate us from the contact that I had been fantasizing about for the past few years, however unaware he would be of it. Before I could even garner the courage, though, I notice a hitch in Ron's steady snore. I prop myself up on the elbow that isn't resting on his chest, allowing his hand to fall to a safer place, to look at him. "Wake up," I say again, noticing that he is already starting to stir, hoping that the hotness of my cheeks isn't apparent.

His eyes flutter open, and the surprised lop-sided grin he sends my way causes my heart to skip a beat. He hasn't smiled like this since Fred passed, and I am filled with some sort of girlish pride over the fact that his smile is for me. "Good morning," he mumbles, this time grabbing me deliberately.

"Good morning," I echo, oppressing an inexplicable giggle. This is certainly foreign as well. Poking his chest playfully, I inquire, "I don't suppose you realize just how much trouble we would be in if your mother happened upon us?"

His expression faltered, but his response was still said with bravado, "We're both adults here, and we've known each other for years. It wouldn't be rational to tear us a new one over something like sharing a bed. I'm sure she's just thrilled that you aren't pregnant or something, seeing as we shared a tent for the past year." Despite his confident words, the last sentence causes the tips of his ears to tint.

"While that may be true," I respond, ignoring the implication that accompanied his statement, "we are still under her roof. Her house, her rules. If you want to take it up with her, be my guest." As much as I know Ron loves a challenge, I doubt my suggestion would be carried through, considering that his mother is involved. Indeed, the darkening of his blush proves my suspicions to be true. Before he gets too worked up over such a silly request, I give him a light peck on the tip of his deliciously freckled nose. As expected, this disorients him, his mouth relaxing into a lazy smile yet again. As nice as it is to have someone to wake up to, it wouldn't be wise to start being bed fellows this early in our… relationship anyway. We shouldn't make a habit out of this. I continue, "So, shall we get up to spare Harry and Ginny from your mother's wrath?"

"They made their own damned bed, they can lie in it," he growls, perhaps just remembering the circumstances that allowed him to be with me in this moment. His hand starts traveling in circular paths across my back, distracting me from my goal of untangling myself from him. Granted, as he brings up his other hand to caress my cheek, I realize that I wasn't terribly dedicated to that goal to begin with. "Besides, why would I want to leave this bed if it meant leaving you? You're so cute in the mornings."

I stare up at him in surprise, enjoying his lingering touch upon my cheek. He must be mocking me. My hair is probably a huge tangled mess, and I don't even want to think about morning breath. With my luck, there's probably dried drool on my cheek. Either way, his candor is more shocking than the statement itself. "Are you serious?" I stutter, incredulous.

"Of course. I already told you that I wouldn't leave you again, though I didn't think I had to remind you of that this soon. Your mind must be going," he grins mischievously.

"Not that," I say, rolling my eyes amusedly. "The cute part."

"Well, I reckon that I could have also said pretty, gorgeous, beautiful, se-" his word is cut off by him suddenly clearing his throat. "You know, any of those things could apply."

I merely gaze at him, absent mindedly biting my lip. I could certainly get used to this Ron, who seemed to have no issue complimenting me. Usually his praise was reserved for moments of intelligence on my part, and everyone complimented my brain. I know that I'm bright, perhaps at the risk of sounding arrogant. But physically attractive? Considering that Ron's prior love interests included a Veela and one of the most attractive girls in Gryffindor, I merely assumed that his interests in me were those derived from our long friendship and his own apparent growth in maturity. While I am certain that those things are still factors in his affections, the fact that he may find some value in being with me aside from my companionship was something to ponder. Perhaps the feelings that I have entertained when I've been alone - those similar to how I felt prior to him waking - could be reciprocated? The notion of Ron and I in a sexual situation excited me as much as it frightened me, and I couldn't believe that the possibility of a sexual relationship in addition to a romantic one hadn't dawned on me before. Not any time soon, of course, but it is definitely relevant now.

"Hermione," Ron says, jolting me from my thoughts. My name on his lips makes me blush, given what I was just thinking about. "You believe me, don't you? You got quiet all of the sudden."

"Just worried about your mother finding us, that's all," I mutter, not quite willing to admit that I am slightly overwhelmed by his compliments.  
Ron frowns, ceasing the circular motions on my back. "Alright," he responds, though not before kissing me lightly on the lips. My stomach flutters, and I can't help to think that the kiss was far too brief. I never knew that being with someone could make you so indecisive. I feel quite unlike myself.

0000

The day was positively droll due to the fact that people seemed in lighter spirits than the weeks prior. Much of the time was spent cleaning after the funeral. It seems that Fred and George's friends do not make for house-friendly party guests. It also seems to me that Mrs. Weasley may have an inkling as to what transpired last night. Although Ron and I were fortunate enough to escape Ginny's bedroom undetected, it appears as if Harry and Ginny were not so lucky. Any task that Mrs. Weasley assigned to one of them was typically in the farthest direction from the other. While this is not uncommon by any means, the fact that I ended up spending the most of the day under Mrs. Weasley's vigilant gaze makes me think that she has come to suspect us, too. Although she has not come out and said anything about the subject, the indescribable look that is on her face as she looks at me is not that of ignorance. But it isn't anger either, which is the surprising part. Indeed, when she spoke to me there was nothing but the motherly, kind tone I have often received from her. I can only hope that I haven't disappointed her. I should do better to be more respectful in the future, even if it means distancing myself from Ron when we are alone. I loathe to think such a thought. Waking in his embrace was all I could think of when I wasn't fretting over Mrs. Weasley's opinion of me. The thought surprised me throughout the day, causing a warmth in my cheeks and a bounce in my step as I continued with my tasks. No wonder she is suspicious.

As I ready myself for bed, I can't help but be ridiculous in the fact that I miss him. Aside from the brief contact of his foot stroking mine under the table during dinner, we haven't spoken much since last night. How is it that everything between us is suddenly clear, and yet I feel as if there is so much more that could be said? So much more to be done. I bite my lip as I ponder the latter half of those possibilities. Ever since the passionate kiss we shared at Hogwarts, I often find myself exploring those possibilities in my mind. It makes me wonder if there is something wrong with me. Worse, it makes me feel a bit guilty. Between the deaths of so many loved ones, and so many other wonderful qualities that I find in Ron, how is it that the only thing that I continuously think about is his physical presence around me, on top of me… I must be mad. Prior to that kiss, our mutual realizations, surely there were more productive things that I thought as thoroughly about? I find that my intense mental capacity has been more of a burden than a blessing as late, with part of it being dedicated to explicit subjects involving a certain red-head, and the other incessantly reminding myself that there are so many other things to dedicate my thoughts to. I can't help but feel selfish. And wanting. But mostly selfish.

Luckily, Ginny enters the room before my thoughts could escalate, her beautiful mermaid locks wrapped in a towel above her head. My eyes narrow down at her accusingly, despite the tired look in her eyes. "Still feeling hung over, I see? Strange, I hadn't noticed it this morning."

Ginny scoffs, taking the towel off of her head to wring out her hair. "As if you minded. I'm sure you much preferred seeing my git of a brother for some strange reason. Probably liked it even more that you found him in your bed." She grins at the last statement, as if she has caught me in a lie.

I stiffen instinctively, and I feel myself biting back that very lie. Ginny and I have enjoyed a friendship over the years, but I was never transparent when it came to my feelings for her brother. However, my conscious effort to conceal my affections made no difference, if numerous teasing moments on her end were any indication. "How did you know?" I surprise both her and myself, desperate to part with the thoughts that have been a wonderful plague upon my memory.

Ginny throws down the towel in excitement, and jumps up on to the foot of my bed. "I'm dating both his and your best friend. Word gets around. Now, I want details! Well, just the summary, anyway. I think I may vomit if you get too explicit. My brother is involved after all," she clarifies, torn between her love for gossip and distaste for anything to do with Ron. "And you're welcome, by the way."

"I assure you, you didn't need to get intoxicated in order to get him in the same room as me," I tisk, but the playful smile on my face betrays my thankfulness for her efforts. "And there aren't any explicit details to tell, anyway. He just held me… Now, you have to tell me: you're dating Harry? Officially?"

The grin on Ginny's freckled face falters slightly. "Well, it's complicated," she explains. "Although I have managed to get him back to the light - you know, none of this "it's my fault that people are dead" bullshite - there still remains the fact that I have another year of school. And so do you guys, if you wanted to go back. But I just don't know what he will want to do where that's concerned. I know the place doesn't bring up the best memories for him."

There is one of the main factors that has escaped my hormone addled mind! Whether or not to return to school. My stomach flares up excitedly at the thought, but I know that Hogwarts never brought that sort of reaction to either one of my best friends. As Ginny mentioned, especially with the last fatal battle that we took part in taking place there, it is doubtful that either one of them would want to go back. Ron lost a brother, and we all almost died ourselves. But I am of the belief that education is paramount, a part of my identity that would forever be lost if I chose to quit without meeting its end. Clearly, it is a hard decision to make, but I would like to make it together if that is possible. Much like my education, having my two best friends in my life is something that would be difficult to part with, even if it were for the relatively brief moment of a year.

"Do you know what he seems to be leaning toward?" I ask, although I am saddened that I don't already know this information myself. It is strange to not have spent every waking moment with Harry and Ron, given the past year hunting down the horcruxes together.

Ginny shrugs, a glimmer of resentment in her eyes. "I don't know, but he probably won't go back. Harry seems to have a knack for doing what suits him, although it may not always be for the best."

I chew on my lip, inferring more meaning in the comment than I'm sure Ginny had meant to convey. Although it is clear that being physically together makes them happier, if Harry's improved outlook is any indication, I can understand how she could still feel bitter about his departure a year ago. I still squirm with negative emotions when I think about Ron leaving Harry and I, even if it was largely due to the influence of the locket. Imagine having someone you love leave with the full knowledge that they would, in all likelihood, die. Ginny has lived with this all year, and still managed to help Neville with maintaining some sort of rebellion at Hogwarts. Ginny can be frivolous at times, but she is certainly admirable. "Who knows? I agree that it would be in his best interests to finish his education."

Ginny snorts. "You would think that was in his best interests. I'm sure you're just counting the days until school starts back."

If only she knew that I hadn't given it a second thought, as I have been too distracted by thinking of doing various things to her older brother.

"That's not true, actually. I haven't thought about it at all," I blush, torn. I actually would like to confide in her. She has more experience than I do - both in terms of being in a relationship, and presumably in the matters that have taken over my mind. But how do you phrase 'is it normal to just want to hump the living day lights out of someone' without saying just that? I cringe with embarrassment just thinking about it, let alone saying it.  
Ginny looks at me with a dawning sense of knowing. "Ah, the honeymoon phase. How could I have forgotten that?" She smirks as she observes the growing redness of my cheeks.

"What do you mean by that?" I ask with a start, tucking my bushy hair behind my ear anxiously.

"Oh, everything is so new and wonderful! I can't think stop thinking about that hunk of mine," Ginny gushes mockingly, her face lit up with an exaggerated sense of wonder and her hands clasped together in front of her chest. "I can't wait to start creating little red-haired babies with him - oh, gross, it's my brother. Gotta stop," she finishes mercifully, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

"That's certainly not an avenue I am going to take right now," I say with equal disgust. I can't fathom having children right now, not without having completed my education and a proper career.

"Oh, I know. But the activities that create them…?" She trails off, a knowing smile on her face. I simply lower my red face, no longer willing to look her in the eyes. Ginny gave a thrilled cry. "Aha! Hermione Granger is NOT asexual after all!"

"Could you keep it down?" I whisper urgently. "Your mum is already suspicious, and I do not need her overhearing this conversation."

"Why? Ron overhearing this conversation might help get you a little relief," she grinned, albeit with a slight twitch at the mention of Ron's part in my situation. "And besides, there is nothing wrong with being a sexual woman, Hermione. Hell, it may help you relax for once."

"Oh, and you would know?" I counter, slightly annoyed that yet another accusation of my needing to relax. Now there is a long pause, and I fear that I may have touched a nerve.

"Yeah. Once," she admits, subdued. "Before you guys left. I wanted to show him a proper good bye, just in case… you know, it would be our last opportunity." Her light brown eyes look dejectedly at the comforter in front of us, although a slight smile remains on her face. "And I'm happy, you know, that it wasn't our last opportunity. But the fact that he is willing to part with me again, after all that we have been through this year, simply because he doesn't want to go to school… It just hurts. And of course, I know that there's more to it. It's the memories involved as well. But I don't know… I was hoping that I could help him create more good to replace the bad. After all, I have my own bad memories to cope with. Fred." She stops suddenly, and says no more.

I touch her knee delicately, rousing her from her dark thoughts. I loathe myself again for having such vapid fascinations when my friends are clearly still hurting. "Have you told him how you feel?"

Ginny snorts again, although this time a sniffling noise accompanies it. "I'm not going to be the guilt-trip that makes him do something he doesn't want to do. That's not how a relationship is supposed to work. I've been independent most of my life, and I can continue to be that way. It would just be nice to have him with me for our final year, that's all. And if I can't have that, at least I'll have you," she smirks weakly at me. "Assuming being a sex-crazed maniac hasn't changed your priorities."

"Of course not," I scoff, letting this unflattering accusation slide. After all, it feels kind of true lately. "I haven't spoken to them about it, but I'm pretty sure that I plan on returning."

"That's a relief to hear," she yawns, stepping down from the foot of my bed to go to her own bed. "And Hermione, I'm going to tell you not to worry, however useless it will be. It is completely normal to be feeling this way, especially at the start of a long awaited relationship such as yours. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Just enjoy the newness while it lasts."

I can't help but feel that her last piece of advice is tainted by the disappointed hopes of their getting back together. Although Harry is doing better because of her, I can see how Ginny still has issues with his departure. Even if it was necessary, it is hard to forget abandonment. Perhaps I can talk Harry into attending Hogwarts, for the sake of his education, his sense of closure, and his relationship with Ginny.

After all, I am used to being what Ginny is unwilling to be, if the fact that they did not fail any of their classes over the years is any indication.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Some days are harder than others. There are days when I can barely think of the future, when the past still haunts me too much. Some days, I will just fly on my broom for hours on end without telling anyone. Over a month has passed since Fred's funeral, and the sight of his empty seat at the table still hurts. Some days I am glad that those are the only moments that hurt me. Sometimes, I blame myself. It happened right in front of me. Hell, it could have been me. But I'm still here. Fred, who was loved by many and had so much going for him, is gone. I'm useless, and I'm still here.

Hermione doesn't like hearing me like this. In the few times she has caught me in one of my moods, she has just told me how wonderful I am and how I could not have prevented it. I try my best to believe her, even if there are days when I can't believe that she is with me to begin with. That's another thing that I can't understand. Fred is gone, and I get to be with one of the most amazing people. A person that I love. I don't know if Fred ever got to feel the way I do. I don't know how he could stand it. It's so much.

"I miss you, mate," I whisper as I sit near his grave, which lies a mere half mile from our home. If I turn around, I can see Harry and Hermione from a distance. It's nice that they care, but I'd honestly rather be alone right now. Alone with him, anyway. "I wish I could ask you what to do. You'd probably just tell me to piss off, but it would still be worth it."

Hermione keeps mentioning, casually and in passing, that the time to start getting ready to go back to Hogwarts is approaching. Harry never mentions it, and Ginny usually frowns whenever he doesn't contribute to conversations about when they are going to go supply shopping. I don't know what any of us are going to do. It seems unreal to go back, after all that has happened.

"Of course, you dropped out of school. You probably think I'm daft for even considering going back," I continue to the space in front of me. "But I suppose we all can't be you. And that's the thing. I want to help George at the shop, but I know I can't replace you. No one could ever do that for him. I can't be that for him, even if I tried." I wipe a stray tear from my eye before straightening myself out and heading back to Harry and Hermione. It seems strange, to have the three of us together like this. Mum usually keeps us so busy that we don't really have much time to talk. When I do have free time, my thoughts overwhelm me and I escape from the house to be alone. Those are the harder days.

"You don't have to head back now if you don't want to," Hermione reminds me softly as I approach.

I simply shake my head at her, taking her small hand in my own. Although I am a lot more confident in doing this than I used to be, it still affects me the way it did weeks ago. Every stroke of her thumb in my palm sends tingles up my arm and down my spine. She has no clue what power she has over me.

"You guys didn't have to come," I mutter as we slowly make our way back to the Burrow.

"We wanted to, mate. It's good seeing him," Harry replies. "And besides, your mum is driving me a bit bonkers. She's like my second mum, but she seems to have a constant eye on us. It's nice to get out."

I can certainly relate to that. Ever since I woke up with Hermione in my arms, we haven't had any real time alone. Apparently she had caught Ginny leaving my room that morning. Although it wasn't incriminating enough to justify killing us all, it's now her life's mission to make sure that we are never alone. Just my luck.

"Yeah, about that. Since when do legal adults need baby sitters?" I complain, irritated.

"Since they live under her roof," Hermione quickly replies, although I can tell that my mum's constant vigilance is taking its toll of her as well. The few times that we have managed stolen snogs have been… intense, to say the least. And much too brief for my liking.

"Yeah, I get that. But we traveled together for a year without her supervision. It's ridiculous," I argue back, even though this is an argument that we have had plenty of times before.

"Well, unless we want to start living in our own place and paying our own bills with the money we don't have, we don't have much of a choice," she counters huffily. I can tell that I'm starting to irritate her. There's a brightness to her cheeks, and her chest is rising and falling faster than normal, which is particularly distracting. As strange as this sounds, it's actually sort of exciting seeing her riled up. Since I can't see her this way in an intimate situation due to my mum, it's better than nothing. What's even stranger is that I think Hermione feels the same way.

"Guys, I'm right here," Harry groans. He seems to know how we feel about it too.

The tips of my ears darken against my will. "Sorry," I mutter darkly.

"Sorry, Harry. It's just stressful. School is coming up soon," she informs us for the hundredth time. She must realize that Harry and I don't even know if we are going back to that bloody place. "And I've been thinking… I think it's time for me to go get my parents from Australia."

Well, that was certainly a more relevant reminder. I feel like a shite boyfriend. I completely forgot about how Hermione had banished her parents' memories. I've been too wrapped up in my grief over Fred. "Are you sure it's going to be safe for you to go? Will the Ministry let you?"

"Do you even know exactly where they are?" Harry adds on.

"I don't know about either one of those things! But what do you guys expect me to do, not get them? You guys are saying that we are wasting time being "baby sat" here, and if I, at least, plan on going back to Hogwarts, it has to happen soon. Regardless of safety, it's about time that they had their old lives back," Hermione cries, her brow furrowing in the adorable way it does when she is talking passionately about something.

I think about it for a few seconds. "Fair enough," I agree. "We will go with you."

Harry nods in agreement. "It's the least we can do, Hermione."

Hermione's tongue flickers out to moisten her lips, and any thought flees my mind. She definitely has no clue what power she holds. I've barely registered that her lips are moving. "Could you repeat that?"

Hermione rolls her eyes, a signature look that manages to have both amusement and irritation. "I don't want to drag you guys across the world just to come with me. I'm sure that I can handle myself, but it is sweet of you two to offer."

"Hermione, really? Who dragged you around the country for almost a year?" Harry counters.

"I came willingly, Harry-"

"It's the same with us!" I interrupt. She can't debate her way out of this. "Besides, what are we really doing right now? Sitting around, cleaning an already clean house under Mum's constant supervision."

"Yeah, after this year I thought I would love to just sit forever. I was wrong," Harry chuckles, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Come on, Hermione! Let us come with you."

Hermione gazes at both of us thoughtfully, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. After a few moments, she lets out a breath. "Alright, guys. I just don't want to risk anyone getting hurt."

"We work better together than alone. We're in this together," Harry says with a small smile. It reminds me of something similar that we had told him a year ago. It feels like it has been forever.

To avoid the sad nostalgia that was starting to overcome us, I grab Hermione by the waist and spin her around. Harry, slightly embarrassed, rolls his eyes and starts walking ahead of us. She squeals in surprise. "Ronald!"

I set her back down, but not without pressing my lips to her forehead. I look down into her beautiful eyes. "It'll be an adventure," I reassure her. "And more importantly, we will get them back, Hermione."

Hermione gives me the sweetest smile. Blimey. I honestly can't wait for the opportunity to be with her alone again, but a trip with our best friend is still great compared to living with constant supervision.

"Oye, lovebirds!" Harry calls, not bothering to look back. "When do you think we should leave?"

Hermione puts her hand in mine, and we follow Harry down the cobblestone pathway that leads to the front door. "As soon as possible, if we want to get back in time to get everything ready for school."

The smile that was on my face falters. Although I'm not sure yet, I don't think that my decision will go the way that Hermione wants it to. School was never my thing to begin with, and I think that George will really need me at the shop. At least for a while. He doesn't talk much, but whenever we do, it is usually about his business and how he will eventually need to go back. I want to help him with that. It sucks that doing that will lessen the time I spend with Hermione, but I have to do what's right.

0000

The following month was spent arranging matters for international travel. Although danger levels are still above the typical level for Portkey travel, having some of the main names associated with Voldemort's downfall does come with some perks. We managed to get international clearance approved by the Ministry of Magic, as well as some contacts that would be more than willing to house us during our stay. I have got to hand it to Hermione to have accomplished all of this without my mum suspecting anything, considering that she still has been watching us like a hawk. They don't call her the brightest witch of her age for nothing. However, despite her stealth, Hermione insists that telling Mum is a step we must take before leaving. I managed to convince her to put it off until the last moment in order to avoid Mum's wrath, but Hermione isn't happy about it.  
Tomorrow is the day that we are scheduled to leave. Unfortunately, we can't conceivably put it off any longer. Of course, I mentioned just taking off without saying anything, but I was shot the fiercest glare I have ever received from Hermione since before we kissed for the first time that I knew not to push it. On top of that, we haven't told Ginny either. We didn't want to risk anyone finding out and blowing our chances. I know how pissed off she is going to be for being out of the loop.

This is going to be a disaster.

We sit down to a dinner that smells delicious, but I feel like I am too anxious to eat. I'll make myself a plate just in case that changes, though. As I shovel some mashed potatoes onto my plate, Hermione deals me a nudge under the table. I look up from my plate only to see what I was hoping to avoid: a pointed look in Mum's direction. Now? But I haven't touched my food yet. I heave a big sigh, but put my utensils down on my plate.

"Hey guys, we have an announcement to make."

All the random noise around us ends as all of the faces I love look back up at me. Fortunately, all of my brothers have left a couple of weeks ago to go back to their own places, so it is just my parents and Ginny that are left to witness the shite storm that is about to occur. This doesn't provide much comfort, though, considering that at least one of those three people is going to be dealing said shite. If not all three. I glance desperately at Hermione and Harry.

Hermione clears her throat. "Well, as all of you know, I made preventative measures before I left with Harry and Ron to track down Voldemort. In order to ensure my parents' safety, I created fabricated memories for my parents and their new lives in Australia. Memories that didn't include me…" She trails off, and the look on her face pains me.

To spare her from delving further into her negative memories, I continue for her. "But we feel that enough time has passed to go get them from where Hermione sent them. We plan on leaving tomorrow."

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Well, it's not like it was a surprise. "It's still EXTREMELY dangerous to travel by Portkey! Especially to a country that you've never even been before! I doubt you could even legally travel there right now!" Mum's standing over the table, her hands holding her body up for support.

"We have received clearance, Mum…" I respond, irritated but trying not to lose my cool. That's not going to help Hermione's case.

"And who is we, anyway?" Ginny interjects angrily before sending a glare at Harry. "Did you know about this?"

"I might have," Harry responds sheepishly.

Ginny and Harry start bickering, but I can barely hear them over Mum's tirade. "I CAN'T BELIEVE that you went behind our backs and got international clearance without our permission! How is that even possible? You are only children!"

"Mum, we aren't! All three of us have been of legal age for quite some time now!" I rise from the table now, mimicking Mum's stance from the opposite side of the table. Hermione delicately runs her foot along my leg beneath the table, as if to calm me. But it's ridiculous that this is even an argument.

"You planned on going with them, and you didn't even tell me? Or ask me if I wanted to come along? What the hell, Harry?" Ginny cries, taking her own stance between Mum and me.

"I just wanted you to stay safe," Harry mutters to his plate in response, although it was barely audible over Mum's interruption.

"Oh! NO, NO, NO, NO! The last thing that is going to happen is you leaving this house, Ginevra! They may be legal adults, but I still have control over your whereabouts."

I perk up immediately. "Wait, so does that mean that we can go?"

"Ronald," Hermione says sternly. What, was my comment insensitive or something? Must've been. Hermione moves to stand at the table, and everyone stills for a moment. Weasley arguments always end up as uproarious shouting matches, but Hermione is not a Weasley. "Mrs. Weasley, I am so sorry to have caused you worry. But this is something I need to do. I can do it alone, if you would prefer that, but I need to get my parents back. Even if that means going without your consent."

A stern silence follows, and I am bewildered by Hermione's boldness. She is amazing. Tentatively, Dad places his hand upon Mum's arm. "She's right, Molly. It's been long enough."

Mum looks hopeless as she sinks back into her chair. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you, Hermione, dear. It wouldn't be safe for you to go alone."

"So let us go with her!" I insist, although I am now calmer than I was moments ago. Mum looks too weak to shout at now, even though I know that this is far from the truth.

There is a very long, tense moment. Mum rubs her face in her hands, looking a lot older than her years. These past few years have been tough on her, especially with Fred being gone now. I understand why she is protective, but she can't control our lives. Dad takes her hands off of her face and cradles them in his palms. Mum looks at Dad for a long time before letting out a breath she had been holding. "Alright," she mutters in no particular direction. "You three kept each other safe all of this time. I can only hope that will stay the same."

"Well, that's great! Yet another decision made with me in the dark. Hope the trip goes well for you!" Ginny yells, breaking the calmness around us before storming out of the room. I look at Harry, who looks as if he had just been attacked by a Dementor. Harry and I agreed from the start that we wouldn't invite Ginny for the very reason that Mum was worried about. However, I hadn't put too much thought into Ginny's reaction. Who knew that would be the thing that we should have feared more.

"Don't worry about her. You guys made the right decision. Mol - I mean, we, we would not have let her go. Not after all that has happened so recently. We don't really want any of you to go, but I understand that it has to be done. The less people involved, the better," Dad assures us, although that does nothing for Harry's pained expression.

"Still, someone should go talk to her," Hermione says fretfully. She and I both glance meaningfully at Harry, which Harry groans to in response. He clearly doesn't want to face her right now, and I don't blame him. Ginny can be even more terrifying than Mum when she is angry, but he has no choice. He excuses himself and makes a death-like march across the dining room to the direction Ginny had fled.

"I really don't know if we should leave those two alone," Mum murmurs to Dad, almost inaudibly.  
Dad chuckles and presses a kiss to Mum's palm. "You know as well as I do that nothing is going to happen when she is in a mood like that. I have faced her mother in a similar mood multiple times. Nothing will happen, even when you try. I've done the leg work."

Hermione and I both shift uncomfortably at the exchange, but I wonder if this could be used to our advantage. "Well, I guess we should go talk to them, too. Come on, Hermione."

"Hold on just one second, young man," Mum pipes up, a bit of her prior anger returning. "Even if you are of legal age, don't think that I approve of your underhanded way of going about this. Or your shenanigans, for that matter."

Oh Merlin, what did that last thing mean? "I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley. There was no other way," Hermione says, using her lack of familial ties to her advantage. Mum is never so easily reasoned with. Of course, I doubt Hermione realizes this. When it comes to Mum's wrath, not being blood related is definitely an advantage.

"Even so, you should have just come out and told us that you two are an item," Dad says with a slight smirk on his face. Nope. This is happening.

"What?" We both exclaim at once, only to blush at the mutual surprise.

Mum rolls her eyes at Dad. "That's not quite what I was getting at. I am upset about how they arranged the trip. But I agree that they should have told us about them coming to their senses a while ago." Hermione and I both are speechless, and I can feel my ears getting hotter. "If you two are going on a trip together, we need to make sure that you will be safe."

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley. Isn't that why they are coming with me to begin with?" Now my whole face is red. Oh. Hermione doesn't understand. That's a first… One of the disadvantages of being in such an open household is that my parents want to talk about everything. And I mean everything.

"That's not quite what we mean, dear," Mum continues, although the awkwardness is starting to show on their side of the table as well. "I've been watching all of you to ensure that no funny business would be happening. It has been quite apparent for a while that you two are enamored with each other, which is lovely up until the point when you find out about each other's feelings." Her eyes narrow at us. "Ginny slipping out of Ron's room one morning with Ron being absent is proof of just that. I am happy for you two, but if you're going to go out on a trip unsupervised, I need to know that you will be safe."

This cannot be happening right now. Dad feels the need to chime in, an awkward grimace of a smile on his face. "Ron, I know that we have taught you all that you need to know, or at least your brothers have, but here's the reminder. And Hermione, you're a smart girl. Just don't do anything risky."

Hermione simply stares at my parents, her cheeks a bright pink. "We won't," I mutter, before shoveling as much food as I can onto both of our plates so that we can take them with us in our escape. "Come on, Hermione. Let's go find Harry and Ginny."

For once, Hermione offers no rebuttal or complaint.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Did that really just happen?"

Ron and I are trekking up the winding staircase in pursuit of Harry and Ginny, whose shouts can be heard with greater intensity as we approach. We have just received what can only be described as a sex talk by his parents, and I am absolutely mortified.

"After living in this house for eighteen years, you kind of just get used to it," Ron replies, although his pink ears give away his embarrassment. Impatient with the plates of food in his hands, he hands them to me briefly in order to levitate them. "Windgardium leviosa." The plates float ahead of us without a problem, and we continue climbing the stairs. "You know, I seem to remember a certain witch that was completely offended by my awesome pronunciation of that charm."

My face heats at the reminder, however teasing. "I was just trying to help! And don't distract me from the real situation. What is it that they taught you? Apparently you know all that you need to know." I can't tell if the attempt at flirting is successful, as I am also genuinely curious about what exactly his parents are referring to. Contraception spells? I haven't read about them, but I never consciously sought out that sort of reading material.

"Oh, nothing terribly interesting. Just the usual parent stuff," he mumbles, although the increased redness in his face seems to indicate otherwise. We approach Ginny's bedroom, where it appears that the two have chosen to have their argument. I will have to bring the topic of tonight's dinner up again at a later date. At this point, Ginny is staring sullenly at Harry as they sit on opposite sides of her bed. She looks betrayed. Much like her mother, a deflated Ginny is much more heartbreaking than a furious one. I feel as if it would be inappropriate for us to intrude, but Ron has no such reservations as he strides confidently into the room, placing the previously levitating plates on the night stands.

"I didn't give you permission to come in," Ginny mutters through gritted teeth.

Ron acts as if she doesn't hear her for a moment. He sits upon what is currently serving as my bed, and starts eating his food. We all stare at him for a good minute before he says anything. "What? You wanna give us hell. Go ahead and get it over with."

Ginny glares at him with a menace. "As if it even matters what I think! Clearly, you three will go about your lives as if I am not a factor in them at all."

I am hurt by the "three," but I am just as guilty as they are. Although I supported her exclusion from our plans the least, I still did not fight it.

"That's not true," I murmur quietly from my spot in the doorway.

"Hermione, come here and eat something. You're probably starved," Ron says, his mouth full of mashed potatoes. I roll my eyes. Only he could be hungry when there is so much tension in the room. He swallows, and then returns his attention to Ginny when he sees that mine will not be diverted. "Ginny, what do you want from us? We want you to be safe. It's not because we don't want you around."

"You're treating me like I'm a child! And Mum, trying to justify it by the fact I'm not technically of legal age yet. I turn seventeen in a couple of weeks!" This is true. Harry's eighteenth birthday is in a few days, and we figured that we would celebrate after we found my parents. Ginny's birthday is only ten days after Harry's, which wouldn't be terribly relevant except for the fact that it IS her seventeenth.

"I hadn't thought about that, but you're right, Ginny," I concede. "If you want, we could theoretically wait for your birthday before we go. We would have to talk to the Ministry and let the people we were going to stay with know that we won't be arriving immediately. Assuming you get international clearance, you could go. And we could still hopefully get back in time for school in September."

All three of their faces change drastically, albeit predictably. The boys aren't happy about my suggestion, but it is Ginny that protests first. "That won't be necessary. This isn't a bloody vacation that you all are going on or anything. I just thought… I had hoped that after everything, I would be more included. I want to help…. It has always been you three against the world."

Harry looks at her sympathetically. "We never meant to make you feel that way."

Ginny lets out a snort. It seems like that line has been used on her before. "I know. And I know it's of no use to beg to be included." She sighs and tucks her legs into her chest. "Just forget it. I understand why you would want to keep me here. To keep me safe, which is always the excuse. Never mind that I can take care of myself… But aside from that, I don't want to hold you guys back. You should find your parents as soon as possible, Hermione. I won't let my age get in the way of that. I'll miss you guys, but I'll be here when you get back."

We all look at each other for a couple of moments, somewhat at a loss of what to do or say. For me, leaving as soon as possible is what I would prefer, both for my parents and for the increased chance of getting back in time for school. I never wanted to hurt anyone. "It shouldn't take long. I hope, anyway."

Harry straightens up suddenly. "Ginny, I don't have to go. Would you prefer I stay here?" Although I am surprised at the statement, I approve of the sentiment behind it. Giving Ginny an option to at least express her opinion, after not having any say at all in his disappearance last year, is bound to help their relationship. And while having Harry would have been nice, I'm sure Ron and I can handle ourselves.

"Why would you suggest something so stupid? Of course you're coming," Ron interjects before Ginny says anything, clearly not understanding the gravity behind the implications of the question.

I cross my arms in front of me. "Really, Ronald?"

Ginny shakes her head, as if deflecting our interruptions. "Harry, I always love when you're around, especially after this past year, but I am not going to tell you what to do. You've always done what you felt is best, and I am not going to change that."

Harry leans in toward her, and I feel as if I may be intruding yet again. "I know that this past year was terrible for you. It was hell for all of us. I know that I left you, when we both know that you could have handled yourself. I know that you could handle yourself on this trip as well. I'm just too afraid to lose you to risk putting you in danger. Last time, I had no choice in leaving. This time, I do."

I can't help but smile a bit at the intimate exchange. Even when Ginny is being a bit petulant (and justifiably so), she can bring out the best in Harry. Ginny's small smile echoes my own. "It's your choice, not mine. I won't begrudge you either one."

"So let's GO already," Ron groans on the opposite bed, his plate of food depleted.

I roll my eyes again. Although Ron is more in tune with my emotions than he used to be, he could still use some help with emotions as a general concept. "It's Harry's choice, Ron. Maybe he would like to stay. I like to think that our trip won't deliver anything that we can't handle. I don't want

Harry to feel like he has to go. It goes both ways," I say, the last statements referring to Ginny's earlier sentiments.

Ron's freckled face distorts in disgust. "But why would he want to stay here?"

"Maybe because he actually likes spending time with me, you prat," Ginny interjects before I can respond, although her eyes never leave Harry's spectacled ones. "But it's your call, Harry."

Harry is silent for a few moments before giving Ginny a soft smile. "I think we have some lost time to make up for… Assuming you don't object, Hermione? You guys will be alright?"

"Of course we will be," I assure him immediately.

Ron shrugs. "I'm sure we can handle ourselves. Just not quite sure why you would willingly stay here with her, mate. Or my mum, for that matter."

Ginny and I roll our eyes simultaneously. "I swear, Ron, you speak of me as if I were the plague."

"And your mum is perfectly lovely when we don't anger her," I add on.

"Yeah, but with her around, you two will never be alone," Ron reminds the couple, although after a few seconds his face breaks out into a grin. "So I reckon it's the best place for you two to be together!"

0000

I could not sleep the night before we left. I tossed and turned, trying to count the soft snores of Ginny in the bed beside me as a way to lull me into an unconscious state. Although I recited the way to restore my parents' memories every day since I took them, there was still a nagging doubt that always lingered in the back in my mind. What if it doesn't work? What if I'm not powerful enough? Although I have always prided myself on my academic abilities, I was never as naturally gifted as Harry and other classmates in terms of application. Besides, this is advanced magic that I had found in a book that I borrowed from the restricted section at Hogwarts. The fact that I took their memories was dangerous to begin with, but restoring them will probably prove to be much more difficult. I just don't know how I would feel if my parents - really my only companions prior to being rescued from the troll my first year at Hogwarts - could not recognize me. It would be devastating.

I share my concerns with Ron this morning as we wait in line to use the only bathroom on the floor. "Come on, Hermione," he grumbles sleepily, rubbing his eye. "You're the brightest witch of our age. There is nothing you can't do if you put your mind to it."

As he stumbles into the bathroom after it is vacated, I still can't shake the pit in my stomach. Intelligence and skill are not necessarily correlated. This is all I can focus on as I stare at my plate at breakfast a short time later.

"Hermione, dear, you really should eat something. Who knows when you'll have something suitable again?" Mrs. Weasley frets, pulling me from my thoughts.

"I'm sure that there will be just as much food there, Mum," Ron chuckles, although there is a look of concern in his eyes that betrays that he shares Mrs. Weasley's concerns.

"I wouldn't have sent my parents anywhere that I hadn't thoroughly researched," I assure them both, offering a smile that feels somewhat genuine, if only for how ludicrous the well-meant concern is. "Aside from a paste called 'Veggiemite,' there isn't anything there that would be out of the ordinary."

I manage to swallow a portion of the meal for Mrs. Weasley's sake, and then excuse myself to finalize my bags for the trip. I have packed lightly for ease of traveling, which is a trait that I have come to value over the past year on the run. I mull over the items I picked restlessly. Although my parents' have been the primary concern on my mind for the past week, it does not escape me that I will be going on this trip with Ron, without Harry. Ron and I had spent a lot of time alone in the past, particularly when Harry was having one of his moods caused by Voldemort's connection with him. But a trip, especially now that our feelings are known, is quite a different story. Even if my hormones have clouded my thoughts, I will not allow myself to be distracted from my objective. Although I would have once scoffed at Lavender or the Patil sisters for the same thoughtfulness, I am now scrutinizing each article of clothing that I bring. However, it is not out of vanity, but out of practicality that I make my selections. Surely, if I don't feel desirable, he won't find me desirable either? I can only hope, because as much as I wouldn't want to stray from my goal and betray Ron's parents' trust by not being perfectly chaste, I can't stop my heart from fluttering whenever my mind occasionally strays to the fact that this will be the first time Ron and I will be alone for an extended period of time in over a year.

"And this is why I'll probably fail in the first place," I mutter miserably to myself, berating myself for my vapid thoughts. "I should be thinking only of my parents, but I can't focus on anything that isn't his eyes, or the way he smells, or the warmth of him beneath my fingers -"

"Geez, Hermione, you could write romance novels," a familiar voice interjects with a snort from behind. I turn around with horror to see Ginny with her arms crossed, grinning at me as she leans on the door frame.

"How much did you hear?" I stutter, my face heating up to a degree that could rival even Ron.

"Trust me, given the subject, I heard more than enough," she grimaces. She proceeds to pick through the items that I had thrown across the floor in my anxiety. "Take this sweater. You look great in pink! It brings out your cheeks."

"The last thing I want to look is 'great', but thanks," I mutter, mentally filing the garment in the 'not to take' section.

Ginny frowns. "What's wrong?" She grabs my hand and drags me to her bed, forcing me to cease my efforts of sorting clothing into corresponding piles.

I am so pent up that I do not need that much prodding at all. "I just feel so frivolous and powerless!" I cry in frustration. "I am terrified that I am not going to restore my parents' memories. On top of that, I feel so guilty because there has been so much death and sadness around me, and all I want is to be with Ron and worry about none of it."

Ginny rolls her eyes, a gesture that surprises me in its callousness. "Hermione, you're acting like Harry. You need to stop this." I simply look at her hopelessly, my eyes stinging despite myself. Her gaze softens, and she grabs my hand to hold it. "Hermione, listen to me. You're human. Yes, a lot of bad things have happened, but no one deserves to wallow in that all the time. No one could take it! You're allowed to enjoy the good things that happen to you. Merlin knows why, but you've found something special with my brother, and that's a beautiful thing. You deserve to be happy. I'm sure your parents would feel the same way."

I am slightly comforted by her words, but the bigger issue still remains. "Even so, there is no guarantee that my parents will get the opportunity to tell me that they would feel the same way! If I can't restore their memories, I don't know what I will do. Being a pathetic lovesick puppy isn't going to help any of that! If anything, not having my attention completely focused on my task will hinder it."

"Look, I'm not telling you to shack up in a hotel instead of going to find your parents. But you've already proven to be an incredible daughter, and on top of that an incredible witch. You have a shiteload of brain power, and I'm sure the minimal amount that you expend to conjure up what little knowledge you have of foreplay and the male anatomy will not detract from your abilities," she chuckles.

Ginny was so much like Ron in her wit. While it bordered on insulting, I still find myself oddly amused and even reassured. "There is no guarantee of that. I fear you underestimate me."

"No one ever really knows everything. I think that's something you have yet to accept," she says with a small grin. "But we all have so much faith in you. You just need to have faith in yourself. And much like Harry, you need to quit feeling guilty about things that make you happy! I swear, I don't know how Ron puts up with you two. I think all he thinks about is his next meal."

"Now, that's not true," I say with amusement. "But I see what you mean… I suppose being happy about Ron does not detract from my parents. I would say the same to Harry if he was thinking like this."

"Atta girl," Ginny exclaims, mock punching me on the shoulder. She stands and turns her attention to her trashed bedroom. "Now, take whatever you will be comfortable and happy in. Not what you think will make Ron less attracted to you. I've seen the way he looks at you. I don't think that would be possible, even if you tried."

I blush and start restocking the small bag that I had enchanted for our journey a year prior. There is a pregnant silence as we make considerable progress in cleaning up the room that I cluttered up. Even though I had the bag completely packed for days, it still took some time, which allowed me to remember the events of the night before. "Ginny, I'm really sorry about the way this whole plan went about. The guys were so worried about keeping you safe, and not to mention keeping it a secret from your family. But you're right - you're an independent woman that is completely capable of handling yourself in battle. You're better in combat than I am! I think their judgment is just clouded because they love you."

"I am well aware that I am capable, but thanks for acknowledging it!" She smirked, throwing the last of the items into my luggage. "I just feel a little guilty that Harry has decided to stay. Even if I feel better about his safety since he will be with me, I want you guys to be safe, too."

I have packed for around a month, unsure of how long tracking down my parents and restoring their memories will take. However, the bag is almost weightless as I fasten it and place it on my bed. "He made his decision, and I do not begrudge him it. I am not worried about Ron and I. Besides, it's about time you two got to spend some time together."

"To be honest, I think I was more hurt about him making another decision without talking to me about it than the fact that we would be apart. But if he wants to stay, I'm not going to stop him," she admits sadly, her eyes distant. "Sometimes I just wish that staying safe for me would the obvious choice for him, you know?"

I simply nod in response, although I can only sympathize since I have yet to really be excluded from any dangerous decisions in recent years. We three always had a habit of sticking together.

A few hours pass, and we gather around the Weasley family room as a Ministry of Magic employee enters the home with a tea cup in hand. She introduces herself as Layla Shacklebolt, a cousin of Kingsley and an Auror. She looks older, although not by much - probably less than ten years our senior. Her skin is lovely and dark, and her long hair is in dread locks down her back. Her Australian accent is evident as she explains that she will enchant the tea cup to take us to Sydney, which is where I instructed my parents to relocate to. "We will be staying at my parents' home, just off the beach," she continues with a beautiful smile on her face. "All three of you should be comfortable there."

"Actually, I won't be going," Harry announces, which causes Mrs. Weasley to stare at Ron and I.

"Oh, what a shame, Mr. Potter. I'm sure my younger sister would have loved to meet you!" Layla continues, turning to direct her attention to me.

"Now, since you gave us your parents' aliases, we were able to do some research on your behalf, Miss Granger. We have reason to believe that your parents are still practicing dentistry in the city. Nine months ago, they purchased a home around a 30 minute commute away from the heart of the city in the suburbs. We have yet to get in contact with them, but there is no reason to believe that they are anything other than healthy. "

My heart pounds at the knowledge. In order to receive clearance, I had to have a substantial reason. I told the Ministry that my parents were hiding in Australia, which was true. However, I did not tell them that I took their memories from them, since the spell is technically dark magic and it would be considered a criminal offense. That being said, if the Ministry of Magic was able to locate them so easily, could the Death Eaters have found them first?

"I hadn't realized that you looked into their whereabouts. Thank you. Also, it's Hermione," I offer with a smile, although I am still worried internally.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but is it really appropriate for the two of them to be going alone?" Mrs. Weasley squeaks, and I can tell by her face that she wants to say a whole lot more than what she has already said. Meanwhile, Layla starts to silently cast upon the cup, effortlessly continuing the conversation.

"I don't see why not," Layla says, confused. "Haven't these three been traveling alone for quite some time now?"

"Yes, but the three of them is certainly different than just the two-"

"They will be completely safe with my family," Layla reassures. Ron and I give each other a glance. I don't think that Mrs. Weasley is concerned for just the type of safety that Layla is referring to. "Now, the Portkey is ready. We must hurry. Please say your goodbyes!"  
Ron and I quickly make a round of hugs, although Mrs. Weasley seems reluctant to let us go. "Please hurry!" Layla ushers, prompting Mrs. Weasley to relinquish us from her grasp. I look into Ron's eyes, seeking the comfort that I knew I would find after so many years, and we touch the tea cup together.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Damn, I never liked traveling via Portkey. Or by Apparating, for that matter. It always makes me feel like shite. After shaking my head in hopes of getting rid of the dizziness that I feel, I open my eyes to take in the family room of Layla Shacklebolt. It is not unlike Bill and Fleur's home at Shell Cottage, with rustic wooden furnishings and white upholstery. Outside a wide window facing the beach, it is dark, save for a bright crescent moon and the lights of the city on the ocean's surface. I had forgotten about the time zone difference. It was about noon when we left the Burrow, but it is clearly nighttime here.

"We're going to have be a little quiet," Layla whispers, confirming what I already suspected. "I'm sure that the rest of my family is already asleep. Let me show you to your rooms."

She guides us down a narrow hallway to two rooms that are parallel to each other, with a shared bathroom in the middle at the hallway's end. I immediately offer Hermione the bigger bedroom. She seems to want to protest, probably by bringing up how big I am compared to her so I will need more space, but the need to not wake the others seems to overcome her need to argue with my request.

After we set our bags in our respective rooms, Layla continues, "Please make yourselves at home. Anything in the fridge is fair game. If you feel like going outside for some reason, just make sure to close the door behind you. It's an older house, and we would prefer to avoid a draft if possible. Do you two have any questions? I figured that we could start hunting down your parents as soon as tomorrow, Hermione."

"That would be perfect," Hermione smiles, although I get the feeling that it does not reach her eyes.

"I think we're good. Thanks so much," I respond. I'm already thinking about raiding her fridge.

"I'll be down the hall if you need anything. See you two in the morning!" Layla parts from us, turning to go to the opposite side of the house.  
After Layla is a considerable distance away, I take Hermione's hand and drag her into her bedroom, closing the door behind me to create a sound barrier.

"Ron?" She asks, looking at me warily.

"Are you alright?" I respond in kind.

Her faces shifts, as if she weren't expecting the question. "What do you mean? Of course I am."

"I just know that you've been worried all day. I don't want you to worry. You're going to be great," I reassure her.

She gives me the strangest expression that I can't quite describe. Slowly, she takes a step towards me, wrapping her arms around my back. I immediately reciprocate with little doubt, which is a welcome change from just a mere couple of months ago. "I just didn't expect this all to be so soon," she confides into my chest. "I've packed for a month, fully expecting that it would take that long to find them. Yet here we are, ready to meet with them as soon as tomorrow. I'm excited to see them, but it's overwhelming… I just don't know if I am ready to do what I need to do yet."  
I clumsily run my hands in circles along her back in an attempt to comfort her. "I mean, we don't HAVE to do it tomorrow if you don't want to," I remind her, admittedly not in any hurry to return to Mum's constant watch.

"Although the offer is tempting, I think it's been long enough. I do miss them," she says seriously, stepping back from my embrace and looking me in the face. I reluctantly put my hands back at my sides.

She clearly does not view this trip with the same relief as I selfishly have been. I just can't help it. Being alone with Hermione is all I've wanted for months. I also can't help but see Fred at home whenever we sit down for a meal, or when I pass the family room or the room he shared with George. A change of scenery is something I welcome, even if the circumstances are bad. However, rather than admit that to her, I decide that it's better to change the subject. "Wanna go outside? I reckon that we're not going to sleep any time soon, seeing as we just got up five hours ago."

She bites her bottom lip, looking at me thoughtfully. "I don't know if that would be alright with Layla and her family. They're supposed to be watching us."

"The war is over. We shouldn't have to hide anymore," I say with feeling. "And if there is any need for protection, I'll make sure you're safe. I won't let anything bad happen to you."

She gives me a small smile. "You know that I can protect myself, right?"

"But of course," I tease, waggling my eyebrows. "They say you're the brightest witch of our age."

"I keep hearing that somewhere," she chuckles, apparently remembering what I had told her just that morning. "But I still don't know if it would be proper to go out without letting them know."

"They're our hosts, not our wardens in Azkaban. Look at it this way," I suggest, stroking my chin in mock-thoughtfulness. "If we don't go out, the alternative would be eating everything in their fridge. Both sound appealing to me."

She lets out a small laugh. "Well, that's the biggest non sequitur I've ever heard! But if my options are so limited, I suppose I'll have to take the one that doesn't involve preventing our hosts from having breakfast in the morning."

Even though I don't have a damn clue what a 'non sequitur' is, I feel accomplished for convincing Hermione to do something that could rouse her from her self doubt and anxiety. We tip toe through the house to the front door, making sure to close it quietly behind us. In the dim moonlight, I can see a narrow sand path from the entry way that leads to the beach. I've only been to the beach whenever I had reason to visit Shell Cottage, which was only twice: to attend my brother's housewarming party, and to have a safe haven during the war. I don't know about Hermione's experiences with the beach, other than the one that we had the misfortune to share. However, I reckon that there is nothing like the present to create new and better memories! I take off my shoes at the door step, earning myself a quizzical look from Hermione. "What? Do you usually go to the beach with sneakers on?"

"I don't really go to the beach, period," she admits, begrudgingly moving to take off her own shoes. "I just feel like it's a bit silly to lay out on dirt in order to bake in the sun."

"Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but there's no sun to bake in at the moment," I point out, gesturing toward the crescent moon that casts a blue hue over the sprawling beach scape.

She rolls her eyes in amusement as she straightens herself out, having completed the task of taking off her sneakers. She pulls out her wand and directs it toward the path before us. "Lumos."

Although the night air is a bit cool, I enjoy the feeling of the sand between my toes as we walk toward our destination. It feels organic and life affirming, in a way. It brings me to the present. I look to the woman beside me, who is watching the path before her intently, probably fearful of broken glass or a prickly weed in the way of our bare feet.

Despite the circumstances, I still feel thankful to be here with her, if only for the fact that there could have been an alternative that had more to do with our own mortality rather than physical distance apart. I still can't believe my own luck sometimes. I have the feelings I have for my best friend requited. I get to live. Sometimes I get into a funk about it, since I am entirely undeserving of such luck, but those days are lessening as time passes. After all, I doubt Fred would have approved of me wasting my life in such a way. He would have wanted me to seize the moment at every opportunity.

Speaking of opportunity, I hear the waves crashing upon the shore, and I can't resist. Upon reaching an arbitrary spot upon the beach, I pull off my shirt, bracing my body for the chilly night air. Again, Hermione gives me a look that she usually reserves for only the most complicated of books. "What are you doing, Ronald?"

"Why else would you go to the beach?" I call, running toward the waves at full force. Shite, that's cold. Perhaps it wasn't the best of my ideas, but I feel high from the fact that I'm alive to have them. I wade in about thigh-high, reluctant to have my more sensitive areas submerged, and breathe in the salty air. I turn around to be greeted by Hermione's intent stare upon my body. Although it is dark, I swear that I see her blush, which provokes an even greater one of my own. Merlin, could she have been checking me out? I don't think there's much to look at, but not much else would explain the embarrassed look on her face. "Are you coming in? The water is fine!" I reckon that a little white lie never hurt anyone, especially when it is meant to distract Hermione from feeling regretful about one of the last things I would ever want her to feel bad about.

"Somehow, I don't believe you," she calls with a smile, amused by my antics. She sits down beside my shirt before using it as a make-shift blanket. "Besides, it's already chilly, and I don't exactly have anything proper to swim in."

"Suit yourself!" I yell, covering up my slight disappointment. Although I would like nothing more than to hold her in the water, I realize that it was already a feat to get her outside, given the circumstances. I'll take what I can get.

Despite the cold, I jump farther into the ocean, immersing my head in the salt water. I swim about for a while, acclimating to the cool water and burning some excess energy that has been pent up over the weeks. After about ten minutes, I return to the shore, only to see Hermione with a far-off, sad look upon her face. Well, my first attempt at distracting her was a dud. When she finally notices my return, I can't help but remember her prior gaze and wonder if there are other means through which I can entertain her. "Well, I'm bloody cold," I complain, only partially in theatrics.

"Ronald, don't swear," she scolds half-heartedly as she pats the spot next to her in invitation.

I take my place next to her without heeding her mild complaint. "You missed out. It was definitely worth it," I informed her before shaking my head, sending water into the air.

"Perhaps I'll take you up on it next time," she says, swatting me playfully with my shirt in retaliation for the light shower. "Although I still don't know if you're to be believed. You look quite pitiful."

"Perhaps you can help warm me up?" I suggest. I realize that it sounds much more like a genuine request than the flirty innuendo that I had intended. Either way, I can feel my ears burning.

She gives me a thoughtful half-smile as she grabs my deserted shirt and starts patting my cold shoulders with it. She is meticulous in her efforts and makes sure that not a part of me remains wet. As she moves to my chest, I can't ignore the stirring between my legs. Even though she is literally doing as I requested, I am driven dizzy by the sensations of my shirt on my skin, knowing that it is being guided by her careful hands. I unconsciously close my eyes, enjoying her innocent motions upon my torso.

"I suppose that I could have done this more efficiently with magic," Hermione murmurs as her hand moves toward my stomach. Although my eyes are still closed, I sense that she is closer than before, and my suspicion is confirmed when I feel a gentle kiss upon my shoulder.

I am all too aware of her closeness, particularly her hand's proximity to a place I had only dreamed of her being near. Thankfully, I am wearing jeans and not a swim suit, as my hardness would have already caught her attention. "Thank you," I mumble, stopping her hand's downward descent with my own. I look down to ensure that I have not betrayed myself, only to find that the excess fabric of the shirt was low enough to cover my waist. Thank Merlin.

"Well, hold on," she says, her beautiful brown eyes sparkling with an emotion I can't place. "Your hair is still awfully damp. Let me dry that for you."

"That won't be necessary!" I say abruptly, holding the hand with the shirt tight to my stomach.

Thinking fast, I reciprocate the kiss that she gave me by pressing my lips to the arm that I am holding still. As I had hoped, it distracts her enough to relinquish her hold on my shirt, allowing it to fall exactly where I need it to be in order to not be discovered. However, I can't resist continuing to taste her skin, allowing my journey to continue upward toward her bare neck. I let go of the arm that I held fast to my stomach, allowing her free range of motion if she wanted to push me back. However, she does quite the opposite by wrapping that arm around my neck, pulling me down on top of her.

She never ceases to amaze me.

Careful not to press anything incriminating into her, I shower the sensitive skin of her neck in kisses. She lifts her chin, granting me further access to this uncharted territory, which makes me ache. My kisses become more heated as a find her pulse, lightly sucking the rhythm beneath my lips. She lets out a small noise that I can't identify. The only other person I had ever snogged was obnoxiously loud and detailed in her enjoyment. I was used to the obvious.

I back away for a moment to look her in the face, which is harder than expected since her arm is still tight around me. She looks dazed. "Did I hurt you?" I ask, my ears burning. "I'm so sorry-"

I am cut off by Hermione's lips on my own, her body urgently pressing down upon me. Our positions are reversed now as she straddles my waist, mimicking my prior attentions by flickering her tongue upon my pulse. Much like with school, she is a quick study. I wrap my arms around her, moving my hands underneath her pink sweater to feel the soft skin of her back. She tangles her hands in my wet hair as she pulls me in for another kiss, thrusting her sweet tongue in between my parted lips.

This is the Hermione that I have had the pleasure of seeing only a few times in the brief stolen snogs that we've had in the past two months. Always wanting to learn and explore, she confidently gave her all to every thing that we have shared. But never have our experiments (as I'm sure she considers them) gone this far, I realize, as my hands find the soft fabric of her cotton bra. I am immediately struck by uncertainty, which is a far cry from Hermione's demanding lips upon mine. Would she want me to move further? I've been aching to touch her that way since I realized that she was a girl in our fourth year, but I have no clue if she would even be interested or ready for that, especially since she is fairly vulnerable at the moment due to the uncertain fate of her parents.

Perhaps she can sense what is going through my mind, or that I am feeling something other than skin under her shirt, for she pulls back, breathing deeply. I look into her brown eyes, searching for sadness or uncertainty and finding only warmth. Slowly, she pulls her fingers through my hair to let her hands rest at her sides. I fall back onto the soft sand, bringing my hands downward to hold her by her sides. She looks down at me with a soft smile. "It isn't fair for you to be the only one without a shirt all this time," she murmurs with a blush, and I move one of my hands to the shirt that shields Hermione from the bulge in my jeans with the intention of putting it back on. "And besides, skin-to-skin contact is better for keeping warm anyway."

I don't quite understand what she means until I see her hands move to the bottom of her sweater. It kills me to say this, but I have to. "You're keeping me plenty warm as it is," I admit, wanting to continue with our banter to lessen the expectant tension. I don't want her to do anything she would regret.

"I'm glad that I'm doing well in my task," she whispers, sounding entirely too seductive for the innocence of the words. In one graceful movement, she pulls the sweater over her head, exposing the flat expanse of her belly and a simple white bra that contains the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen. "But you know me. I always strive to be exceptional."

Merlin. How could they be even better than I had imagined? It's not that they're humongous or anything. They're a soft round shape, with the milky white of her skin almost blending in with the fabric that covers them. In the center, I can barely make out little peaks, probably hard from the chill of the night air. I throb underneath her, aching to cup one of her perfect breasts, but I still can't manage to do anything but stare. Long moments pass that I don't notice, except for the fact that Hermione moves to cover herself with her hands.

"No! Please," I whisper urgently, moving my hands up her torso to hold her arms gently. "You're so beautiful, Hermione."

Although it is hard to see in the moonlight, I can make out a blush that stains her cheeks. Instead of reaching out caress the beautiful orbs that I have dreamed of, I open my arms wide in invitation. She looks puzzled - maybe even disappointed - as she accepts the invitation, shifting off my lap to lay in the sand beside me, nuzzling into my chest. I wrap my arms around her to warm her. I let a few minutes pass as I breathe in slowly, allowing my arousal to die down. However, Hermione seems restless, her fingers rapping lightly and consistently against me. "I don't understand," she eventually mutters into my chest. "We were snogging, and I felt you, and I thought that was where you would want things to go."

Well, all that effort to hide myself from her was wasted, but I suppose I should have known it would have been that way the moment she got on top of me. "Hermione, you're bloody gorgeous," I reassure her, already kicking myself for my reservation. It had been nagging on me throughout our snogging that she may not be in the best place to do things. Or new things, at least. I just don't want it to go too far. "I just don't want to ruin anything."

"You're not ruining anything! Well, you weren't…" she says, a harsh edge in her voice.

I am starting to realize that I may have caused some of the damage that I had intended to prevent by being careful. Women are bloody complicated. "I just don't want to hurt you. I want to make sure that you want everything that we're doing. Not to please me, or to distract yourself from other things."

"Oh, so you think that is what this is about?" She asks angrily, moving up off my chest. "I'll have you know that I don't do a thing that I don't want to, Ronald Weasley. Is that what have you been doing this whole time? Trying to distract me from the fact that I'm not ready to see the parents that I haven't seen in over a year, or that I am probably not going to be able to restore their memories?"

Damn it. I really do ruin everything. I should have just touched her like we wanted me to. "Merlin, of course not!" I respond heatedly, wondering exactly how I went from Heaven to Hell in the span of two minutes. It also dawns on me that this is probably the closest we have come to a full on row since we have been together. I make sure to look intently into her eyes, and not at the beautiful flesh below her neck. "Half the time all I want to DO is snog and touch you."

"Oh really?" She says shrilly, her cheeks coloring from either embarrassment or anger. I can't tell. "Is that all you want me around for then?"  
Her words are like a blow to the stomach. It takes me a long moment to respond. "Blimey, Hermione, really? After all that we have been through, is that what you think of me? That I'm just trying to get into your knickers or something?"

She takes a deep breath. "No… No, of course not. And it would be hypocritical if I acted like I didn't think about that a lot, too." Of course, this is news to me. News that instantly made me feel better about prior statements, but we aren't out of the woods yet. Although I'm worried about her reaction, I extend my arms to her again as a peace offering. She grabs both of our shirts and hands me mine before pulling her sweater back over her head. Although I am disappointed by the turn of events, I am relieved as she lays down to rest on me again after I put my own shirt back on.

"I'm sorry. You're sweet to be worried about me and where I'm at emotionally, even if I think that you're being too cautious. Just trust me when I tell you that I will never do anything that I don't want to do."

"I do. And trust me when I tell you that everything will be alright. You'll get your parents back," I reassure her. She doesn't respond, her gaze lost once again to the waves crashing upon the shore.


End file.
